The Transporter
by imgoodbackup
Summary: Based on the motion picture with the same name, only beefed up with a much deeper and hopefully more compelling story of a long-standing war between Cassadines and other power-hungry families that come in to play. Features an AU Jason Morgan and JaSam, several Cassadines, Sexis, SamLexis, KriSam, Davis Girls and other GH characters from canvas tweaked to suit this story. Rated R.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This fic idea was inspired by the motion picture, The Transporter, but I've beefed it up into what I hope is a much deeper and more compelling story based on a long-standing war between Cassadines and other various power-hungry families that come into play. Some GH history as well as time-lines will be manipulated to suit this story. It features several Cassadines, Sexis, an AU Jason Morgan [He was never Sonny's enforcer], Sam "McCall", JaSam, KriSam, SamLexis, Davis Girls and other characters from canvas that I have tweaked. The first two or three chapters follow the movie pretty closely, but don't let that throw you off. It veers into my own twisted tale before long. This is part one of what will be at least two parts and, perhaps, a trilogy. The prologue is kind of brutal on one of my faves, but rest assured she gets her revenge to a large degree by end of part one. PS: I will always envision Lexi Ainsworth as Kristina Corinthos Davis unless she's the half-pint version known as Kali Rodriguez.

**Disclaimer:** Some dialogue may be paraphrased or directly quoted from the film or General Hospital and belongs to its respective writers. This story is Rated R for violence, adult content and adult language.

**The Transporter [R]**

**Prologue.**

_May 11, 1980 1:23pm. Wyndemere, Port Charles_

"Hand me the child, Natasha." Helena's voice was clipped with unveiled loathing as she stared down at the living reminder of her husband's infidelity.

It wasn't enough that her beloved Mikkos bedded that opera-house whore. He had to add further insult to injury leaving her with child not once, but twice. Fortunately Helena had seen to it that his mistress met with a fatal swipe of a dagger before she could ever reveal she bore him a second child. There was no way Helena would risk that trollop gaining an even stronger hold over her husband than already managed after giving him his first daughter.

Mikkos had been so taken with his precious baby girl that he actually acknowledged the bastard child with royal title as if she were equal to the two sons and rightful heirs Helena had given him. There was no way Helena would suffer that humiliation a second time. Mikkos had sworn the affair was over, but Helena kept close watch over the threat at hand and when the time was right she made her move.

The baby girl had been carted away before she could be discovered by her husband or his informants and a six year old Natasha had been left to watch a river of crimson flow from her mother's carotid until her body lie rigid in death. It served as a powerful lesson for the girl to learn her place and to never attempt to undermine Helena's position as the Cassadine matriarch.

She only wished the threat wasn't empty. As much as Helena wished the girl as dead as her mother, Mikkos would never forgive anyone killing his own. Whores came and went and he had even accepted his own guilt in pushing Helena to act out against Kristin by flaunting their affair, but he would kill anyone including her if they ever dared serve his flesh and blood the same fate.

Helena had little room for discourse when Mikkos insisted on taking Natasha into their home upon her mother's death, especially after boldly confessing her crime to him, but Helena was very resourceful and she had made do. She may not be able to kill Natasha, but she had managed to exact her revenge by equally devastating means. She never thought she would be grateful for that second bastard Kristin spat out, but over the years Natasha had proven as unruly and reckless in regard for her own life as her mother so the leverage of a baby sister had worked to her advantage.

"Please don't. Don't take her. Don't make me say goodbye." Natasha begged as she held her step-mother's malicious gaze.

Many were fooled by the older woman's disarming personality, hazel eyes, soft blond locks and alabaster skin, but Natasha had learned long ago of the evil that lie beneath.

"She's too little. She needs her mother. She needs, needs me." She choked out the last words as a sob escaped her throat clutching her newborn tighter.

This couldn't be happening. They couldn't force her to give up her baby. Surely her father would have mercy and intervene. He had to, because she just couldn't say goodbye to this precious life she had fallen in love with from the moment she learned of her existence. She hugged her daughter close nuzzling her rosy cheek with her own as their combined tears blended to unite a shared sorrow.

The infant had sensed her mother's distress and began crying too. Natasha was so young. Maybe sixteen was too young to be a mother, but caring for her baby and loving her felt so natural. She swayed her gently in her arms and whispered soft reassurances in her ear. She was soothed at once and fresh tears fell as she wondered how long it would be before her baby girl forgot the sound of her mother's voice.

"Enough. Save those tears for someone who doesn't know better." Her stepmother scolded. "You are no longer your father's innocent little school girl. You are a married woman with a child. It is time you start acting like it. You chose to walk away from your marriage and now it is your choice to walk away from your child."

Fury filled Natasha's weary frame as a new level of hatred burned deep in her soul for the woman before her. "I haven't had a choice since the day you murdered my mother and kidnapped my sister! How could you be so cruel as to take a baby from her mother the very day she was born?"

Helena erupted in vicious laughter. "Cruel? Cruelty would be allowing this innocent child to be raised by the likes of you. You are no better than your whore of a mother. You're every bit as weak and undisciplined. At least she had the nerve to fight for her daughters. She was willing to risk her life if it meant securing a future for you and the other one and yet you are ready to walk away. Kristin was a fool to believe she could stand against me and win, but she definitely showed more courage than you. Your husband would gladly welcome you home along with your daughter for the price of a simple apology. You wouldn't have to be without her for a moment, but deep down you are as selfish as your mother. You aren't content to have what is given to you. You insist on demanding more and if you aren't careful, dear Natasha, you too shall meet an untimely end with the tip of my blade. Now give me the child. I've indulged your histrionics long enough."

This was it. She was trapped here on Spoon Island and no one would be coming to her rescue, not even her father who was probably the only one with the power to stop this from happening. She searched the open doorway in futile hope of her father's change of heart as her own mind and heart fought the notion of letting go. As much as it pained her she knew it was her last chance to say goodbye, but her heart would never accept it. Her heart would never let go.

She breathed deeply trying to hold another stream of sobs at bay long enough to say what she needed to say. She held her sweet baby girl in front of her studying every feature and committing it to memory. She ran her fingers over a head full of silken raven hair and smiled at their matching long lashes. She traced the outline of her heart-shaped face and little pouting lips and gazed into those dark blue eyes that led her to wonder if they would remain that way like her father's or turn brown like her own. When would they turn and would she ever see them, see her again? She didn't trust her husband to keep his word, but she promised herself and her daughter in that moment she would find a way.

"I love you, sweetheart." She whispered softly not wanting to share the moment with Helena. "I love you with everything that I am and I promise you, Samantha, we will be together again one day. I would go with you, but you're safer with your father if I'm not around to anger him anymore. He may not be a good husband, but I've seen him with his niece and nephew and I know he would never raise a hand to you. You're too important to him to mistreat. It was me he didn't like and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I failed you, but I will see you again. This isn't forever."

She kissed her forehead, her cheeks and finally her lips and was unable to contain the gut-wrenching cry that left her breathless in its intensity as Helena jerked her baby out of her arms and spirited the wailing infant away just as she had done with her baby sister years ago.

_**xxxxx**_

Mikkos Cassadine eyed the younger man with barely concealed disgust as he addressed him. "Are you certain there is no alternate compromise to be met that would allow for Natasha to keep her child with her, even for the first year or two?"

"I am sorry, Mikkos." The thickly accented man spoke with false sincerity. "If Natasha insists on this divorce she may have it, but she will not keep my child from me. The only other satisfactory outcome would be for Natasha to come to her senses, apologize and come home with me and our daughter. I think that option is more than fair considering the public humiliation she has brought on both our families."

"I couldn't agree more, Andre." Helena dazzled as she entered her husband's study donning the fake persona of concerned stepmother as easily as others slipped into a worn pair of shoes.

She approached her son-in-law carefully placing the tiny infant in his embrace as she continued. "In fact I was appealing to Natasha's sensibilities only moments ago that she might see the error of her judgment and choose to do right by her husband and child."

Helena afforded a tragic sigh with a slow shake of her head. "Alas, I fear she is too much like her mother, impetuous and pig-headed."

Mikkos felt his blood boil at the slight against the woman he once loved as well as the beautiful daughter she had given him, but he said nothing. He simply gripped his glass a little tighter and considered the untold joy to have been garnered had it been his son-in-law's neck.

"She is a challenge." Andre agreed jubilantly as if stealing an infant from its mother left nothing to regret. "It is one of the many things I love about her, but it is my hope for her to see reason before the divorce is final. If not, however, I shall harbor no ill will."

He looked down at the child in his arms as he bounced her up and down. He would have preferred a male heir, but she was his blood and she would be raised as such. "At least I will have my beautiful daughter to dote on."

Mikkos took this as his opening. "She is beautiful and in excellent health. Natasha did a fine job bringing your first heir into the world."

Andre looked up from the discomfited infant to meet the black eyes of his father-in-law and family's biggest competitor. "Da, she did."

"I am pleased you agree and I am sure you will also agree such an accomplishment deserved a reward." Mikkos smiled in wicked satisfaction at the trapped uncertainty crossing Andre's features. To deny the reward Natasha had been granted now would be an insult. Andre must accept her reward or risk upsetting the truce.

The older man continued. "Natasha has chosen a fine name for her daughter and I have taken the liberty of securing the birth certificate here for you to sign before your return."

Andre's eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened. Natasha should not be awarded such control. This was what led to her disobedience in the first place. Her father had given her a false sense of entitlement confusing her into thinking a woman's voice carried as much weight as a man. She had failed to recognize her place in their marriage and forced him to discipline her as her father should have done long ago.

"How thoughtful." Andre seethed through gritted teeth.

"I thought so." Mikkos smiled in delight with the small victory. He only wished he were in position to do more. He set his drink on the table. "Why don't I hold my granddaughter while you sign?"

Andre handed the baby over as Mikkos looked down upon her with sad eyes and heavy heart.

"Samantha Alexandra Cassadine Karpov," Andre read aloud. "She honors us both with Alexandra."

Mikkos nodded as he continued to admire the baby in his arms. "She was terribly saddened to hear of your brother's death." He looked back up to his daughter's husband. "Alexander was a fine young man. Everyone always spoke highly of him."

"Yes." Andre smiled affectionately, but there was something malevolent about it as well. "I'm afraid it is true what they say. Only the good die young."

"Well then," Helena charmed as she placed one arm at her husband's shoulder and the other on the baby's head. "You must take great care of yourself for this little one's sake."

Mikkos scoffed with a humorless chuckle. "Trust me my dear. I have it on good authority heaven has no interest in the likes of men like us."

"Mikkos," Helena reprimanded. Their truce was on rocky ground at best. It would do no good to disrupt what little progress had been made.

"No, Helena. He is right." Andre smiled as he finished signing his name with flair. "My brother was a good man, but naïve. Mikkos and I suffer no such malady. We are far too calculating to be caught by death unaware."

Andre met Mikkos' eye as they both came to understand either would gladly stab the other in the back figuratively or literally at first opportunity.

Mikkos redirected his attention to the babe in his arms as Helena retreated to the bar for a drink. "Be well Samantha." He murmured. "Know that you are Cassadine and you are loved. There will always be a place for you here with us for you shall always be kept close in our hearts."

He placed a gentle kiss to her cheek and returned her to the arms of her father. "I will have my assistant forward Samantha's official certificate of birth once it is notarized and filed with the state."

"Very good." Andre agreed as he positioned the small bundle against him. "I will contact you once we are home safe. Send word if Natasha should change her mind and I will send the jet for her at once. Otherwise, she can mark her calendar one year from today."

Mikkos' brows rose in confusion.

"I wouldn't dream of asking her to miss our daughter's first birthday," Andre grinned. "Oh and please see that she gets the flowers. I believe it is customary for mothers to receive them today, though at home we celebrate our mothers on the last Sunday in November."

_Bastard!_ If the man didn't have his infant granddaughter in his arms he would wipe the floor with him. The agreement had been for Natasha to relinquish custody of her daughter at birth, but she would still be permitted visitation at birthdays and special occasions. He never dreamed the man would be so vindictive as to make her wait an entire year to see her child again. His fist clenched until it shook. Surely Andre was only taunting him. He would not dare deny Natasha from seeing her child sooner.

Helena chimed in again upon noting the rise in tension. "The flowers were beautiful, Andre. It was very considerate of you to think of us. I'm sure Natasha will love her roses as much as I love mine."

"It was nothing." Andre's sinister grin turned from Mikkos to Helena. "A mere token of my deepest thanks. You are a lovely lady Helena. Natasha will be well-served under your continued guidance. I only hope it will benefit our family in time."

"Why, thank you." Helena oozed with sugary affection. She and Andre understood one another perfectly. "I will do my best to get through to her. Until then I hope you will consider sending photographs and updates of your daughter's progress. I have a feeling they may be a most useful tool for encouragement."

His eyes flashed with devilish admiration for the woman so willing to do his bidding. "Very well, I shall see to it weekly updates are sent to you directly. I trust your discretion to know when Natasha may be in the right frame of mind to enjoy them."

"Thank you, Andre." Helena beamed as Mikkos frowned at the exchange. "I'll make certain to make good use of them."

"I'm sure you will." He smirked. "Well, Mikkos, Helena, I'm afraid I must be going now. I am anxious to welcome my daughter home to mother Russia."

Mikkos sighed in defeat as Helena nodded adieu.

"I trust you to take good care of her, Karpov." He warned.

"As I trust you to care for my wife." Andre returned.

"Good day, Mikkos." He nodded in parting. "Helena," He smiled. "It was a pleasure as always."

"Oh no." Her lips curled in devious delight. "The pleasure was all mine."

As soon as the servant saw their guest out, Helena turned to her husband. "It isn't wise to instigate the head of such a powerful family, Mikkos. Need I remind you of what we stand to lose?"

Mikkos swat a vase from its perch sending it crashing across the floor. "Need I remind you, Helena, that man just stole my granddaughter?"

"Darling," Helena consoled. "I know how much this pains you and my heart breaks for you, but there is nothing more to be done. The alliance between Karpov and Cassadine empires would have made for a very prosperous future had Natasha not walked out on their arranged union. Her most public and shameful airing of private matters was an embarrassment that demanded atonement."

"He beat her, Helena! He beat my pregnant daughter to within an inch of her life! Had it not been for Alexander…" Mikkos sighed and placed his head in his hand.

"Andre had no idea she was pregnant at the time. He is still but a young man with the weight of a family empire on his shoulders." She reasoned.

"You yourself, though much older and wiser, have nearly reached your breaking point after suffering the tongue of your daughter. Andre has since apologized to Natasha and to our family and assures us it will never happen again. Their love is new, Mikkos, and all new love has its troubles in the beginning. They need our support and understanding to work through it, not encouragement to walk away from a commitment at the first sign of difficulty."

Mikkos just shook his head unrelenting. Helena hadn't been the one to find his daughter bloodied and bruised. It was a miracle Natasha hadn't miscarried. She hadn't seen the look of terror in his little girl's eyes. She didn't understand. Natasha told him it hadn't been the first time and he believed her. There was no way he would force his daughter back under that man's roof, no matter the cost. He owed that much to his daughter and his beloved Kristin.

"Is that how you would see your daughter live the rest of her life?" She implored with masterful cunning. Her compassion was almost believable. "As a quitter who abandoned her husband and child? Please, you know I say this with only the best of intentions."

"Andre is a great man." She asserted as she slithered to stand behind him with her hands smoothing over his shoulders.

"But he could be so much more with a great Cassadine woman standing behind him." She cooed seductively against his lobe.

"Samantha needs her mother and father together." She continued her seduction as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "And Natasha needs to learn what it means to live up to her word."

Mikkos sighed again uncertain if he agreed with the logic in her words or was only desperate to cling to them to appease his own guilt. "You may be right, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. How am I to face my daughter after failing her so?"

"My dear sweet Mikkos," Helena sighed as she stroked his hair. "You have it backwards. It is Natasha that has failed you. She went into this marriage of her own free will and now she refuses to honor her obligations to her husband and child. The Karpovs make for a powerful ally, but you know as well as I they would make an even greater enemy. You had no choice other than to abide by the terms of this truce. It is what is best for the Cassadine legacy and in time Natasha will come to accept her duties to this family and the consequences for disregarding them."

Mikkos nodded his submission. "I must check on my daughter."

"Remember, darling." Helena called to him as he began to walk away. "She needs you to show your strength, not enable her weakness with coddling. Natasha made the decision to walk away and it is our duty to help her learn to live with her choice and move on."

xxxxx

Mikkos made his way to the end of the west wing and through the door at the end of the hall that led to the parapet above. He'd gone to his daughter's room to find it empty and been informed by one of the upstairs maids that Natasha had insisted her roses needed sunlight and had refused to let anyone else help her. He shook his head at his willful daughter. She had just given birth that very morning and the doctor had insisted she remain in bed until her body recovered.

Natasha heard the heavy footfalls against the stairs as they neared and immediately placed them as her father's before he ever came into view. There was a confidence in his step even when he was at his lowest. She wasn't surprised someone had come looking for her. She was on strict orders not to leave her bed until the doctor gave his okay, but the staff all served as her watchdogs so it was only a matter of time before one of them ratted her out.

She had tried to stay in bed -not because she gave a damn about following orders. It was that her body was just too exhausted to do little else. The emotional and physical exertion of delivering her baby and then giving her up had taken its toll.

After Helena left her, she cried until her throat was raw and she had no voice left at all. She curled into a ball and wept silent steady tears as her heart broke more and more with every bit of distance that grew between her and her child. She had finally run out of tears when one of the servants brought in a large vase full of long-stemmed roses. She hollowly thanked the servant out of habit, but when they informed her who the flowers were from she suddenly surged to her feet as anger fueled her.

She thought to fling them across the room, but then she remembered her daughter. A minute had yet to pass that her baby girl wasn't at the forefront of her thoughts. Her arms already longed to hold her. They felt so empty without her and her heart ached to see her again. That was when she decided to come up to the roof. She would be able to see her daughter as she boarded the launch and watch until she could see her no more. Every second she could see her would have to sustain her for days, weeks and maybe even months. Who knew how much time would pass before Andre agreed to let her visit. She informed the maid her flowers needed sun as excuse to take her leave and stalked away with the vase in tow.

She saw movement at the dock and aimed the telescope to get a better look. When her view came into focus she found Andre standing there with her daughter in his arms. He must have noticed someone on the roof and guessed it was her, because he looked straight up at her with an evil grin as he held Sam's tiny hand up to wave goodbye to her mother. Natasha lost it and began sobbing once again. Her body and arms moved searching for some place to direct her rage and anguish as she hefted the large vase of flowers and hurled them over the ledge smashing them against the stone walk below.

"Natasha! Natasha, my dear child." Mikkos raced to console his broken daughter.

He pulled her body to him as she sobbed against his chest.

He stroked her long dark hair and smoothed his hand across her back until her sobs subsided. He didn't know what was worse the crying or her silence. Both tore at his heart and reminded him of his shortcomings as a father and as a man.

"Fifteen was so young to marry." He sighed as she turned in his embrace to watch the launch as it undocked. "And to have a child so soon?" His eyes roamed unseeing across the choppy waters as he spoke.

"I wish you would have waited. He knew you were innocent and was willing to wait as long as you wanted. It was the only reason I was able to part with you at such a tender age to a man ten years your senior." He shook his head at both his daughter's and his own naivety to believe they would have waited to make love. "Youth is always in such a hurry to experience all life has to offer. It isn't until we're older we learn to savor every moment as it comes."

"Please, father. Please!" She pleaded. "It isn't too late to order the captain to turn around and bring my baby home. It isn't too late for you to change your mind."

Mikkos stared down into the eyes that so closely mirrored his own and his heart was nearly swayed, but then he remembered Helena's words. He needed to be strong for his only daughter and to give in would not only be a show of weakness it would jeopardize their entire family's future. "I will call the boat back this instant if you tell me you have changed your mind. Do you wish to go with your husband and child? It was your choice to marry him. You asked for my blessing, did you not? I do not condone what he has done to you and I would never force you to return to him, but I'm afraid my hands are tied leaving us all with very little options. It is your decision to stay with your husband and daughter, or to let them carry on with their day to day lives without you in it. I will support whatever you decide, but there is nothing more to be done. You must learn to live with whatever choice you make."

Choice? There was no choice. If she returned to the Karpov compound her husband would eventually succeed in beating her to death with or without the guards her father had offered her.

For one solitary second hope had soared within her and her heart swelled to hear her father would stand up for her after all, but then the rest of his words brought her crashing back to reality. This was always what happened. He always claimed to wish to do more, but never did. There was always a reason he could never come through for her and that reason was Helena Cassadine. She should probably be thankful her father even allowed her refuge with him again after she ran away from her husband. She loved her father and wanted to believe he protected her from Andre because he cared for her, but sometimes it felt more like he cared more that someone had mistreated his possession than hurt his child.

"You're siding with him and Helena." Her voice was disimpassioned as she spoke all except for the last word which left her lips with pure venom.

She removed herself from his embrace, but he grasped her upper arms in his hands and urged her to turn and look at him as he appealed to her. His heart ached as he looked at her. She was such a beautiful young girl and so much like her mother yet so much like him as well. "Please do not be too hard on your stepmother. She only wants what is best for you."

Hot angry tears fell down her cheeks as her father defended the woman who murdered her mother to her, the woman that had caused her nothing but misery her entire life. If it weren't for fear of Helena's retribution against her baby sister, she would have told him so long ago.

"Helena was raised on tough love." He continued. "That is what she gives to our sons and that is what she gives to you as well, Natasha. She treats you this way because she wishes you to be as strong, cunning and devoted to the Cassadine legacy as she."

She turned from her father unable to look him in the eye another moment. Her face was devoid of any emotion other than the tears staining her cheeks. She stepped to the ledge of the stone wall and rested her hands there as she watched her daughter drift further and further away. The more distance between them, the darker her world became. It felt colder now. Samantha had been her light, her warmth.

"Helena should be careful what she wishes for... She just might get it."

A shiver traveled up his spine. Her tone was colder and darker than he had ever heard from her before and with it came a threat as lethal as any Cassadine had ever issued. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of his own daughter.

Natasha stood silent once again and, as her little Samantha slipped completely out of sight, she made a silent vow. She would get her daughter back and she would make every last one of them pay for taking her in the first place. Today may have been the day she gave birth, but it was also the day Natasha _Cassadine_ had been born.

**1.**

Mr. Morgan sat behind the wheel of his shiny black on black BMW, parked, in an empty upper level of a public garage. It was best not to be spotted loitering in the area. A beep sounded on his titanium Omega Speedmaster and he moved to silence it. Twenty to ten -it was time to move. He turned the key then depressed a hidden button on the dash and a panel rose revealing a concealed stereo. He hit play and the sounds of Mozart filled the cabin as he clicked his seatbelt into place and donned a pair of black leather driving gloves, flexing his fists as he did so.

Anyone knowing Jason Morgan might find the music at odds with who they perceived him to be. It was something they might expect to hear the man of his past enjoying rather than the man he had become, but an old mentor of sorts taught him long ago that classical music helped soothe the savage beast. And, after his accident, savage beast wasn't a far off description of how he felt inside or how he'd acted. The soft lilt of winds and strings in the first movement of Wolfgang's Clarinet Concerto in A Major relaxed his anxieties while stimulating his brain to focus with enhanced clarity. This was great aide to a man in his profession and so he often listened to this track or others like it at the beginning of every job.

Jason hit a special pre-set button on his stereo and his license plates flipped to a new and untraceable set of plates. His car had enough modifications and tricks up its sleeves to make Q stand and take notice. He would later re-use the plates on another job or dispose of them if spotted.

He depressed another pressure sensitive panel residing in the burl-wood console and entered a code into the keypad housed there before snapping it closed again. The engine purred to life. He shifted into gear and maneuvered out of the parking structure toward the address he'd been given, Rue Massena, 1921 Banque de la Chambre de Commerce. He merged left out of an underpass and onto the Promenade des Anglais allowing the music and short drive to work their magic as he traveled along the coastline with a scenic view of the teal Mediterranean just off to his right.

The car slowed as he turned past a marina lined with boats and then again into the heart of the city. He rolled to a stop giving the police on his left a casual glance as they gave him a cursory once over before his light changed and he made another left. He arrived at his destination punctual as always to the tenth of a second. He slowed to a stop in front of the ornate architecture made of white stone and black iron and waited a whole half of a breath before chaos ensued.

Just as the clock ornamenting the roof struck ten, four masked men armed with handguns and an assault rifle stormed out of its front doors.

"Go! Go, go, go, move it! Move it!" The leader shouted as his men stuffed two large bags into Jason's trunk and slammed it closed.

The men jumped in, three in the back and the leader in the front as he yelled. "Let's go!"

"Go!" he ordered again when he saw his hired driver make no movement, but Jason wasn't going anywhere.

"There are four of you." He stated calmly. He was pissed, but had learned not to let his anger get the better of him. His tone and outward appearance remained as tranquil as the surface of a steady river while its lethal current churned beneath.

"You can count. I'm impressed." The leader sniped. "Now drive!"

"Rule one..." Jason recited. "Never change the deal. The deal was for three men with a combined weight of 254 kilos."

He didn't bother to look the man in the eye. This would not be a negotiation. The time for that had passed. He kept his eyes forward and hands on the wheel as the leader pressed the cool steel of his Beretta to Jason's temple.

"Oh yeah?" The gunman challenged. "Well, this is a new deal."

Jason didn't flinch and he would not waiver. He merely cut his eyes to the minor irritant as he explained. "An extra eighty kilos means we won't make your destination on the gas I allotted."

"So we'll stop and get more gas!" A heavily accented man from the back spoke.

They were jumpy. They'd just perpetrated armed robbery and this ass their boss hired was wasting precious time. They could hear the bank's alarms blaring all the way to the street outside. The four thieves kept checking front, sides and rear expecting police to surround them at any moment, but Jason sat still with his resolve and his cool firmly in place as he laid it out for them. "Every stop we make exposes us. Every exposure increases the risk of us getting caught. An extra eighty kilos means the special shock absorbers I installed for this job will not give us the ability to outmaneuver any police that might be chasing us."

That gave them cause to pause.

"Which means," Jason continued. "If there is a chase, we lose our advantage which also increases the possibility of getting caught."

"I don't want to get caught." He assured them as he finally turned to look the leader in the eyes. "You don't want to get caught..."

He let the man put two and two together as they sat there. The fear and uncertainty was plain to see in his client's eyes and also in the way his hand shook as he held his weapon and Jason mentally shook his head in disgust. This man had bitten off more than he could chew and would probably end up caught regardless of whether he carried out his part or not.

"Just drive the car or you're going to catch a bullet to the brain!" He threatened, but his voice was now as shaky as his hand.

Jason nearly chuckled at the empty threat. He found nothing funny about a gun being held on him, but this man was a joke and he could disarm and disable him in seconds if he chose and take out the other three with no trouble. "And who's going to drive?"

"Shoot this asshole! I'll drive!" Another French thug behind him spat.

"Not without the ignition code you won't." Jason had the upper hand. He knew it and if the guy holding the gun on him had half a brain he would know it too. Jason would sit right there until the police arrived if need be and then claim to have been minding his own business when the armed men took him hostage and ordered him to drive. It would work too, because no one had any proof to show otherwise.

It just wasn't ideal. Getting caught at this point wouldn't bring him any real trouble, but he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Tension mounted as the leader weighed his options. They were all very aware of the three members of the bank's private security that were now slowly approaching the vehicle as he contemplated his next move.

Jason turned to his trigger happy client and looked him dead in his eyes. "Three men. 254 kilos. That was the deal."

The leader screamed his frustration at losing control he never really had and took aim at the easiest target. He fired a kill shot into the forehead of the man behind the driver's seat and the man riding bitch wasted no time reaching over to open the door and push the dead weight onto the pavement.

"Three men, 254 kilos." The leader complied.

Jason wouldn't shed a tear. His death was of no consequence to him. Robbing banks was a dangerous business and full of shady people. It was the man's own fault for not knowing his partners in crime well enough to ensure they had his back or being smart enough to pull his weapon first. Besides, he'd suggested his boss shoot him. Yeah, there was definitely no love lost.

"Seatbelts." He instructed. It wasn't for their safety. It was for his. On the off chance they were to crash Jason didn't want their bodies hurtling into him and causing injury.

Satisfied the terms of the deal were met, Jason entered the code and revved the engine as the guards attempted to box them in on foot. It was an unsuccessful attempt. Jason shifted into drive peeling from the curb as two police cars fell into pursuit.

So much for an easy getaway, he thought to himself. He preferred it whenever possible, but evading those giving chase was nothing new to him. He was an experienced operator of just about any mode of transportation known to man. He kept a low profile, but to those in the know he had a reputation as one of the best wheel men in that part of the world and it was well-earned.

Ever since his car accident a decade ago, something happened to him whenever he got behind the wheel or a gun. His mind shut off to everything around him except the mission at hand and right now his mission was getting away. He spun a razor-sharp u-turn out of parking and flew down the avenue with the two police cars hot on his tail. He shifted and braked, double-clutched and squealed down and around the narrow streets of the town as sirens wailed behind him like screaming donkeys.

Part of his escape had been planned, but there was only so much planning to be done when there were so many variables left to the unknown. He knew the city. He knew the roads. The rest was instinct and skill.

A sudden right twist of the wheel found them ascending a wide alleyway full of stairs. He looked over to the man next to him and couldn't resist. "See what I mean about the shocks?"

Even racing up a stepped path the vibration was barely felt from where they sat. They really were good shocks, Jason mused, but the man just looked at him as if he were crazy. Jason wasn't crazy. He was in his element and this was play for him, but play time was nearly over. The travel through the sleepy city had been easy, but he was about to head into the busier streets where there were sure to be more police and other obstacles in his way.

He made another turn and hit the brakes and gas at once as he threw the car into a 180 zooming through a coved alley in reverse before spinning back around and coming to a stop around another corner. The two cop cars rushed through the alley he'd just vacated just as Jason shifted into third with his foot on the brake while he revved up enough power to start from that speed. It caused his tires to scream against the pavement until finally releasing the brakes and taking off once again.

He veered down another avenue with his passengers shouting. "Wrong way, wrong way!" But he ignored them.

He used this move to his advantage as they careened onto the busy promenade in a near miss with oncoming traffic. The action created a jam as cars halted behind him littering the street and blocking further pursuit by the police.

He made use of a side pass to turn around. They needed to go in the direction they'd just come from. Cheers erupted in his car with the thieves flipping birds to the trapped policeman as they passed back by, but Jason wasn't counting his chips yet. They would radio this in if they hadn't already. There would be more police giving chase and road blocks would go up. He was sure of it. He pressed on the gas a little more and it was as if all the other cars stood still as he raced around them.

He flew past an unmarked officer causing the cop to yelp in surprise as he threw his blue light on the roof of his car and took up where the other two left off. Jason continued using every evasive maneuver at his disposal. There was speed followed by sudden braking and screeching during break-neck turns as he weaved through the myriad of automobiles avoiding the cop who persisted. Whether it was hand to hand combat or operating a vehicle Jason Morgan was an expert in close quarters.

He ripped down an arched pathway for cyclists and pedestrians as the cop kept pace alongside him. He was relentless. Jason would give him that and the unmarked car was muscled enough to actually give him a run for his money. The cop continued racing him to his left hoping to forge ahead and cut him off. Tables and chairs went flying with people scurrying to avoid the police car as he busted through a restaurant's outdoor dining area, but Jason managed to steer clear and keep the lead.

He turned down another avenue just making it past the steel pillars that popped up from the pavement. The road blocks were up and he'd lost the cop behind them. He jerked the wheel to the right and onto the next road as the last road ended and screeched to a stop in the middle of a deserted intersection. The road blocks were up. He'd counted on being out of the city before that happened, but his idiot clients had wasted his time trying to renegotiate the deal. He needed a second to adapt. He heard one of the men in the back retching and could tell his nerves had gotten the better of him. He lowered the window so he wouldn't hurl on his conditioned leather seats.

"Take us to the drop point." The leader urged.

Jason took note of two more police cars heading straight for him down a side street and knew it was too soon. He needed to lose the cops first.

"Not yet." He told them as he hit the switch on his door panel to raise the rear passenger window on the man who finished vomiting then sped off down the road.

He made another turn, but was forced to slam on the brakes as a trash truck took him by surprise. It was completely blocking off his route. The truck must be running behind schedule. This was another one of those unknown variables coming into play. He was now stopped sideways on an overpass with a trash truck blocking the road in front and the two cop cars to the rear now pulled side by side to prevent his retreat. The policeman jumped from their cars with guns drawn ordering them out with their hands up.

He took a look at the road below and contemplated driving over the edge. He breathed deep. His shocks were good, but they weren't _that_ good. He would probably end up with four flats, a bent tie rod and ruined suspension. But he liked those odds better than the chance his car had of ramming the gargantuan waste disposal behemoth to his left out of the way or getting into a shootout with the cops twenty feet to his right. He spotted a car carrier in his rear-view and suddenly his odds felt a little better.

The upper rack of the truck was less than half loaded from what he could tell and about to pass under him. If he could only time this just right it would cushion his landing. He'd worry about getting off the truck if he made it on.

He ignored the shouts from the peanut gallery in the rear urging him to, "Do something," as well as the leader who'd noticed him eying the car carrier and wanted to know what he was thinking.

He shifted the car into gear and held the brake once again while revving up. The tires were smoking and when the RPM's reached 6 and the truck passed underneath he punched it and flew over the side landing in an empty space on the carrier in near perfect placement.

Okay, so maybe he _was_ crazy. But it worked.

Maybe it was skill or maybe it was his guardian angel looking out. Either way he was one lucky bastard. Thanks grandmother, he said in his head.

The carrier continued on its way, but Jason was sure the trucker would probably stop to check on his load as soon as he could pull over. There was no way he hadn't felt his car landing on his rig, but for the moment they were stowed away up top. The only trouble now was getting down and, oh yeah, the six _new_ cop cars now on his tail.

"Your gun, please." He asked of the man on his right as he held out his hand.

The man handed it over still too dumbfounded by that last stunt to know how to react to his next as Jason leaned out of his window and aimed at a large metal lever at the rear of the truck. The strike of the bullet forced the lever out of position unlocking the release mechanism. This caused the car perched behind him to slip down the ramp onto the street below causing a pile up and taking out three of the six giving chase. He threw his ride into reverse and slid down the ramp as well slamming back into gear the second his tires hit pavement.

He took the first turn and spotted a ship yard ahead. Perfect. He knew this particular ship yard from a few deliveries he'd made. He could lose the cops in there and double-back. He fell in step with the railway running through the ship yard as a train sailed down the tracks. There were now three cops on his six and two straight ahead. He gunned it as if playing chicken and waited for just the right moment. At the last available second he zipped ahead of the engine on his right and crossed in front of it. He escaped through an alleyway between warehouses and the freight train had effectively cut off any possible pursuit from the five cops he left in his wake, just as he'd hoped.

Perfect.

He'd made it out of the city and lost his tail. Now he could conclude this deal and move on to the next.

The rest of the drive was uneventful and a short while later he was pulling up to a scenic overlook along the mountainous coastline where another car and driver waited. The leader handed Jason a small envelope stuffed with Euros. He opened it and skimmed the amount. "You gave me too much."

"I need you to take us to Avignon."

"The deal was this far, no further. The deal is the deal, rule number one." He reminded.

"Rules are made to be broken." He argued.

"Not mine." Jason insisted as he held out half of the cash.

The man studied him for a moment and relented. He grabbed the money, unbuckled his belt and opened the door.

"Let's go." He ordered his men. They scrambled to remove the two bags from his trunk and jumped into the waiting ride.

Jason watched as they drove off continuing to argue amongst themselves and wondered how long until they were caught.

He put the car in gear and hit the button to flip the plates again then tucked the envelope into the interior pocket of his suit jacket before heading out. Years in the service had taught him to respect a uniform and what it could do for him. It spoke volumes without him ever having to speak a word. It was a show of power and demanded respect and sometimes instilled a healthy dose of fear when needed so after leaving the U.S. Army Jason had traded one uniform in for another, his own.

His dress shirt was made by Rufus apparel and designed and custom-fitted by Barney Bishop, his personal tailor. It was ultra fitted and made with a cream herringbone cloth. Barney claimed the textured design gave a more sophisticated air to the wearer, distinguishing himself from others and Barney was right. The cream color appeared almost white against the black jacket and pants. Its collar had medium cut away points enabling a thin or thick tie to be worn, but Jason preferred his thin black tie.

The extreme slim fit cut of the shirt accentuated his silhouette flattering the developed muscles underneath that began at his wide set shoulders tapering into a nice V at his waist. The French cuffs had rounded corners while the shirt front and back remained clean and sharp without the addition of pockets or pleats. It was the perfect accompaniment to his fitted black suit and the look was completed with comfortable but stylish black dress shoes and matching black belt. He had a closet full of that exact ensemble and he wore it whenever he worked.

An hour later, Jason was home and had changed into the standard jeans and tee shirt he preferred. He was in his garage detailing his car when he heard the familiar rumble of a motor approach. He stopped to watch as the livraison rapide delivered a wire basket to his front door containing a bottle of milk, cheeses, fresh loaf of French bread and liter of mineral water. He retrieved the basket of empty milk bottles Jason had left at the bottom of the front steps for him and was on his way without further delay.

Jason resumed in his clean-up duties once he was alone again. He needed to ensure all traces of his earlier passengers as well as the DNA splattered on his back windshield was removed. Once finished with the interior he removed the plates in front and rear that he'd used during the job and placed them inside a recessed cabinet he'd had specially installed in the wall of his garage. It was full of a dozen other untraceable plates. He put his regular set on and planned to take a drive later to dispose of the compromised set properly, but for now they would remain safe in the locked storage chest in a secret compartment behind a fake front of typical house tools. He then pulled his car out onto the drive and gave it a good wash in the gleaming afternoon sun.

_**xxxxx**_

It wasn't until the sun rose over the next morning that Jason learned the fate of yesterday's clients. His attention was drawn from the coffee pot in his hand as he poured to the small television in the corner of his kitchen. The newsman reported on the four men who robbed the bank in Nice the previous day, stating no one in the bank had been harmed, but one gunman died on the sidewalk and that the others had been apprehended early that morning when they took a wrong turn on a one-way street and ran into a taxi cab. Jason shook his head as he sipped his coffee. _Amateurs._ They should have hired him to drive them to Avignon in the first place. If they had, then they may have actually gotten away clean with the twenty million Euros in bearer bonds.

The news continued on with the next story as the old brass bell mounted at his front gate clanged. He stepped out of his front door to find an inspector he recognized on the other side of his bronzed gate. He didn't know Inspector Scorpio well, but he had been questioned by him a time or two. His accent was as American as his own and they conversed in English though Jason knew the man spoke French as fluently as he.

"I always say the way a man treats his car is how he treats himself." Mac greeted.

Jason walked up to the gate and glanced over at the dirty older beat up car parked in front of his glimmering BMW then looked back at Mac. "I'd say that's probably true, Inspector."

Mac chuckled. "You have a good sense of humor for a foreigner Morgan. Like the French, a sly wit with just the right amount of flavor."

Jason opened the gate as the inspector arrived at the point of his visit. "Been out driving?"

"Until they pass a law that says I can't." Jason deadpanned.

"Want to come in for coffee?" He offered. It was best to let the man think he had nothing to hide.

Mac took a look past him inside, but didn't see much. "Thank you, but I have a lot of stops to make, eighty-eight to be exact."

"That's a lot of stops." Jason agreed.

Mac turned to head back down the front steps as Morgan followed. He knew the round of questioning wasn't over and he'd rather have it outside than in his home.

"A lot of 1999 black BMW seven-three-fives with zero six in the license plate to check out." Mac replied.

Jason nodded as he walked with him. All of his plates good and bad had zero six in them. It was the series his supplier was able to obtain through his connection. He wasn't worried though. The current set was clean and so was his car. There was nothing to find.

"It's a very popular car," Mac continued, "with a certain type down here. You've seen them. They come over from Italy in those expensive suits with the pretty young girls wearing the big jewelry and too much make-up. Very... mafia."

He eyed Jason watching for a response, but found none. The man was a stone.

He continued. "There was a robbery, a getaway. Some very fancy driving."

"By someone in a 1999 black BMW seven-three-five?" Jason surmised.

Mac smiled with a pensive gaze. "With zero six on the plate."

Jason simply crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent. He had nothing to add.

Mac persisted as he turned to look at Jason's car. "Been to the city lately?"

"Not for a while." The man was fishing and Jason knew it.

"I love Nice." Mac rambled as he casually inspected the vehicle for damage or any obvious evidence. "The food, the way they grill the fish. No place in France does it the way they do in Nice. And the women..."

He rounded the car to inspect the other side. "I prefer the women there. They are more... complicated than the local variety. Wouldn't you agree?"

He finished the examination and stopped a few steps in front of Jason as he answered. "I don't particularly like complicated."

Mac studied him. "You like to keep it simple."

"Why are you so interested?"

"Oh, you know... Ever since I was a little boy military people have always intrigued me."

"I'm ex-military." Jason reminded. Everyone down at the station already knew his background. Well, all of it since he'd enlisted. Very few knew of his life before.

"I'm... ex-little boy." Mac countered and Jason gave a dismissive huff.

The inspector was holding something back, but Jason knew he didn't intend on being straight with him. He was ready to give the cop the brush off.

Jason noticed the way Inspector Scorpio's attention had been drawn to his garage.

"You sure you don't have time for coffee?" He inquired again to appear as though he were in no hurry for him to leave and hopefully to distract him from his focus, but Mac ignored him.

"Everything is always so neat with you Morgan, nothing ever out of place." He observed as he stepped to the foot of the entrance and peered inside.

The garage was immaculate. The floor was lined with large black rubber tiles and there was no clutter whatsoever. An ivory surfboard rested against one wall near a door leading to the interior of the home and some diving equipment hung from a rack on the right. There was a rolling tool chest with a smaller black tool box on top and he could see a closed storage cabinet above it. This was all typical of a man living with the Mediterranean Sea quite literally in his back yard.

Jason remained in place. He didn't want to encourage the man to move any further into his garage. He responded from where he stood. "I'll take that as a compliment coming from a man who pays attention to every detail."

Their discussion wasn't threatening, but there was an unspoken tension rising between them. Mac stood looking into the garage a moment longer before turning to make his retreat. "Maybe I'll come back later for that coffee."

Jason nodded once. "Door's always open to you."

Mac huffed in humor. He doubted that very likely, but gave the younger man a parting smile as he passed by on the way to his car.

Jason stood watching him leave before heading back inside.

_**xxxxx**_

Mac had only driven a mile down the road when his phone rang. He recognized the number and shook his head. Someone must be tracking his coordinates via GPS again.

"Yes?" He answered annoyed.

"How did it go?" The other voice said, ignoring his tone.

"As good as you hoped. He didn't bat an eye when I mentioned the mob or the robbery -or anything else for that matter." His comments about complicated women had also been a test to see how Jason would respond.

Would he be respectful in his comments about women or crude? His niece would insist Jason Morgan was nothing but respectful, but it had been many years since he'd dated Robin. They were both very young and people changed over time. Their relationship had also been very brief. So brief, in fact, that by the time Mac returned to Port Charles from a seven month undercover operation the two had already parted as friends and Jason had just left for boot camp. He'd never actually had a chance to meet the young man known as Jason Morgan until he moved to France years later and their paths finally crossed. He and Jason Quartermaine had known one another, of course, but Jason Morgan had no idea who he was -or if he did he'd never said as much.

Jason hadn't really responded to his comment about women other than to say he didn't really like complicated, but Mac took the almost non-response as respectful. A crude man would always show their true colors when given the opportunity.

"The man is cool as ice." He continued to inform the caller. "I tell you, if I didn't know what I know, I'd swear he was just a simple man living a nice quiet life."

"Good. So we're clear to move forward?"

"I still don't like this, but yeah. We're good." Mac grumbled. There were a million ways this could all go bad and he wasn't comfortable entrusting something so important into any one person's hands let alone Jason Morgan.

It wasn't that he believed him to be totally unscrupulous. He served his country and fellow countryman honorably for many years. His problem with Morgan was that he was a wild card. He played by nobody's rules other than his own. But, he sighed, this wasn't his call to make.

"Good. Keep me posted." The caller told him before ending the call.

Mac held the phone out in front of him and stared at the display stating the call had ended. What was so hard about saying goodbye before you hung up on someone?

_**xxxxx**_

A cell phone went off on a poolside table at a luxury hotel on the coast of Nice and a young man answered.

"We're good." He heard them confirm.

"Make the call and keep me posted." They ordered and, up acknowledgment, the line went dead.

_**xxxxx**_

Jason's cell phone went off. He hit talk and waited for the other person to speak as usual.

"Rudy gave me your number."

Jason recognized the name as someone he'd done business with many times before. He trusted no one, but this person would have to have a death wish to use this man's name as a reference without permission.

"Be brief." He directed.

"I'm looking for a transporter." The man answered.

"I'm listening." Jason told him as the man then proceeded to set up a meeting to discuss terms.

_**xxxxx**_

Sam was still somewhere in France, she assumed. She could hear the television in the next room and the game show host and contestants were speaking in French. France was also the last place she'd been before someone slipped up behind her and placed a rag over her mouth and nose and everything faded to black. She awoke in this tiny room lying on a lumpy mattress with both her hands and feet tied and tape over her mouth. She'd been in and out for a while. Still groggy from the chloroform they must have used on her, she suspected. She had yet to see the face of her abductors, but she could hear them laughing at the TV and talking amongst themselves.

She hadn't heard anything from either of the two distinctly male voices that would give her any answers, but she kept her ears tuned in just in case. She might not be sure who her kidnappers were, but she was pretty sure who hired them. She didn't know if that should scare her even more or reassure her somehow? The man was ruthless, but he was also her father.

She searched the room for clues, but came up empty. She could tell by the old decor and emergency escape route mounted on the back of the door that she was in an old hotel. Taking in the musty smell she considered that it might even be abandoned. She couldn't imagine anyone paying to stay there. There was no trace of natural light or darkness from the blacked out window so she had no idea of how much time had elapsed. But if her stomach was a reliable indicator she'd missed at least one meal, going on two. The last meal she'd had was at the hotel for breakfast and it felt like it might be time for dinner, but she couldn't be sure since she had a healthy appetite and missing one meal, let alone two, could send her into a food binge.

Her stomach growled and she almost laughed. Apparently it would take a hell of a lot more than a kidnapping to scare her hunger pains away, but she willed them to stop in order to focus on a way out of the mess she was in. She was running out of time, and so were they.

_**xxxxx**_

Jason stepped into the pub on time as usual. He'd agreed to meet later that evening with this Jackal person as he'd called himself to discuss the terms of the job. He spotted a male at the bar guzzling an orange soda just as he'd said he would be, but had to do a double take. He was practically a kid. Jason wasn't even sure he'd be legal to drink in America.

"Jackal?" Jason questioned to be sure.

The kid just smiled at him and nodded eagerly as Jason sat on the stool next to him. He was dressed in baggy olive green cargo pants, brown Timberland boots with a tan tee shirt and a black leather jacket, but there was nothing about him that screamed danger like the name Jackal suggested. Labrador retriever, maybe. Jason shrugged it off. He had a good reference and, as long as he also had the cash, Jason didn't really care what he called himself. He pulled out a pen and small memo-pad to jot down the specifics as the Jackal sipped his orange soda and placed it back down on the bar.

"One bag, that's it." He informed the transporter. He'd been instructed by his employer to be as brief as possible. His tendency to expound past the point of caring was well-known by any who had spent more than a few minutes in his company.

"Dimensions?" Jason inquired.

The Jackal approximated the size using his hands, causing Jason's eyes to squint. _Was he for real?_

"Be specific." He instructed.

It was at that point the man to the Jackal's right, who'd been eying them both since Jason sat down, spoke. He was obviously with the Jackal. In fact, the moniker suited him more than the kid.

"One meter fifty by half meter." The guy informed.

"Weight?"

"Fifty kilos, not more." The guy answered again in a thick accent Jason placed as northern European. Was Jackal here running with the Russians? Now that _would_ make him dangerous.

Jason wrote down the answers then turned back to the kid. "Destination?"

"Twenty-four Rue du Luxemborg. You're delivering to a Mr. Alca..."

Jason held up his hand to halt him before he finished.

"Rule Two," he informed. "No names."

The Jackal observed this intensely disciplined man for a moment and decided to stick to being brief again. He waited for Mr. Morgan to ask another question. "Time of pick-up?"

Seven o'clock in the morning was his answer and then included that location as well when asked.

Jason wrote this all down then ripped the page from his notepad and replaced the pen and paper in his jacket pocket as he recited the terms. "A package; one meter fifty by fifty, fifty kilos, 250 kilometers and traveling within the speed limit with one stop for refreshments. Forty thousand; half now, half on delivery. Delivery will be at noon. If no one's there it is not my responsibility. I will leave the package. Once we make a deal, the terms of that deal cannot be changed or renegotiated."

"Another rule?" The Jackal wondered in curiosity.

"It is rule number one." Jason answered. "Do we have a deal?"

The Jackal reached inside his jacket and pulled out several stacks of Euros. He handed over twenty thousand and Jason slipped it into his pocket. He picked up the paper he'd written all his information on and lit it on fire with the titanium Zippo he'd carried since his days with Delta. He left the paper to burn in an ash tray on the bar after having committed it all to memory. He always found it helped to retain information if he spoke it, wrote it and then read it over again, but he never kept any records of transactions.

"You're very precise." The kid observed.

"Transportation is a precise business." Jason concluded as he stood from the bar and left them to finish their drinks without him. He had what he needed and had no intentions of socializing. This was business. It wasn't personal and that was just the way he liked it.

Page 28 of 28 Created: 2012-02-18 Updated: 2013-06-05 Words: 11742 Characters: 63488


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER...** Please go back and read chapter one. When I posted initially, it was only the prologue. It now includes chapter one as well. For those following the story more for the Cassadine/Davis girls interaction, there's more in upcoming chapters as that part of the story unfolds. In this story, much of Jason's back story is the same except that he never killed anyone for Sonny Corinthos.

**2.**

Sam laid on top of that lumpy mattress for quite some time trying to focus. Maybe it was after-effects from the drug they'd used, but it was hard to maintain coherent thought for more than a few minutes at a time and she still felt too weak to stand. Lack of food in her system probably hadn't helped. It took a couple more hours lying there before the cloud lifted. She began studying her surroundings once more for anything to fashion as a weapon or cut her free. If only her abductors had used handcuffs she could make use of one of the bobby pins she kept in her bra to pick the lock.

She finally managed enough strength to form a sitting position by sliding her legs over the side of the bed and contracting her abdominal muscles to lift her upper body. Her arms were tied behind her in an awkward position so her next move had been to contort her tiny figure until it bent through the hole her arms made and now they were at least tied in front of her. She pulled the duct tape from her mouth and pursed her lips with gritted teeth to resist crying out as it stung her skin. She welcomed the first deep breath she'd had in hours while soothing the irritated flesh with her fingertips.

Sam observed the lamp on the bedside table. She could use it to knock the first guard out, strangle the second unconscious with its cord and then tie them both up. She tried lifting it, but it was bolted down. She noticed a drawer below. A letter opener or scissors seemed too much to hope for. All she found was a bible covered in a fine layer of dust. She supposed if all else failed she could try praying her way out of it. She figured it probably couldn't hurt to do that anyway then closed her eyes and said a quick one though she hadn't spoken to Him in a long time.

_Dear Lord, if you could get me the hell out of this mess I'd really appreciate it. Thanks, Sam. PS: Sorry for cursing._

She used the lip of the metal bed frame to nudge the stilettos from her feet. She could run full speed in heels with both hands tied behind her back thanks to the etiquette lessons her father insisted she take, but she wasn't sure how she'd fair with both feet tied too. She stood from the bed and inched her way toward the window. The thick curtains blocked any view. She hoped to see a familiar landmark or at least learn the time from the position of the sun. There was no sun, however. It was already dark and she couldn't be sure, but it felt like it was late. Her stomach growled in agreement.

The staggered lighting along the sidewalks showed them to be as empty as the streets they adorned and there wasn't much else to see, but what she could make out looked like any other village in France. She noted there were more lights to the right than left so her best bet appeared running that way when she escaped. She attempted to open the window, but it wouldn't budge any more than the lamp.

She considered breaking it, but there was no fire escape, ledge or even pipes to aide in her descent and they were five floors up by the count of windows on the building next to them. The two were separated by a small alley, but it was too dark to see what was down there.

She turned around and eyed the room again from the new angle. There was no bathroom, but there was a closet. She made her way to it hoping to find a heavy iron on the shelf, but once again luck wasn't on her side –or maybe it was.

A discarded coat hanger rested at the bottom. She squatted, leaning against the frame of the opening to steady herself as she retrieved it. Maybe she could use the wire to help loosen the knots around her wrists. She went to the door and gently tested it. The knob had been reversed. It was locked from the other side, but she was confident once she freed her hands she could pick it with her bobby pin. She hop-shuffled back to the bed to sit and begin working the knots with the hanger.

She'd just finished bending and untwisting the wire when a door outside her room slammed shut. The men were talking to one another again and she realized she hadn't heard their conversation in a while. She'd assumed one of them had fallen asleep since she could still hear the TV, but it was clear now one must have left and just returned. She listened in as best she could. They spoke in French, louder than before, but only one of them actually sounded as if it might be his native tongue. The other had an accent she recognized all too well. She should, it was from her homeland.

The Frenchman had stayed behind apparently as it was his accent that asked all the questions. She heard the other man with a harder edge to his voice bark short replies. They made the deal, she heard. They were to drop off the package, she assumed that was her, in the morning at 7.

"Eight more hours." The Frenchman had sighed then asked if his partner had returned with his food.

Eight more hours, she thought. No wonder her stomach was pissed. Eight from seven made it ten at night which made it fifteen hours since her last meal... _if_ it was still the same day she'd been taken. The sound of her door unlocking had her falling back onto the bed and doing her best to conceal the wire hanger beneath her before she was caught.

It was pointless to play possum. Her shoes were off, her arms were now in front of her, the tape over her mouth removed and the curtains and closet door were wide open. Obviously she'd made herself comfortable. She watched as one of her captors entered. She'd never seen him before, but she could tell by his countenance he was dangerous. He was tall with a buzz cut, dark features and form of a wrestler. His eyes narrowed seeing what she had been up to.

"Don't suppose I could persuade you to ignore my father's orders and let me go?" She asked in Russian. Though, she spoke several other languages just as well –another thing her father had insisted on. He'd kept her bogged down in private studies most of her life as a means of isolation. She thanked heaven above for a few beloved servants who dared to share unfiltered bits of the outside world with her.

Sam watched the man closely as she'd asked her question. She knew it was pointless. Any man who worked for her father would never turn against him, not out of loyalty so much as fear of a slow and tortuous death. That was the cost of betrayal in Andre Karpov's world. Her point had merely been to see if he revealed any tells at the mention of her father.

He responded with a "not likely" smirk and little huff. She could interpret that two ways. Either they were working under the orders of her father or, at the very least, knew of her father's reputation. Knowing of him and abducting his only child anyway meant they must work for someone more fearsome than even the likes of Andre Karpov. And that thought _was_ enough to spoil her appetite… almost.

He ignored her and tossed a paper bag and bottled water to her on the bed as he stalked to the window to ensure it was still secure.

"Eat. Drink." He ordered as he snapped the curtains closed again.

Her legs slid back over the bed and she sat up careful to keep the hanger out of sight. She grabbed the bag and dumped its contents out next to her. There was a Daunat brand sandwich and Odise cup of lemon yogurt which confirmed her suspicion about France. They were common finds at any French express market. The sandwich was still sealed in its triangular container. It didn't appear the bag of chips, yogurt or water had been tampered with either, but she couldn't be sure about the pear so she wouldn't risk it.

While Sam inspected the food she noticed danger guy had been inspecting the room before returning his scrutinous gaze to her. She focused on her meal to hide the nerves creeping up. She couldn't afford for him to find the hanger.

"Kind of hard to eat with your hands tied." Sam commented as she held them up in front of her.

His hard glare never faltered. Apparently, he was immune to the pout on her lips. "Make do." He told her then exited, locking the door behind him.

Damn, she sighed. That had to be one of the first times her sexy pout hadn't worked for her. When she made her move, he would be the first one she took out. The other one couldn't possibly be as much of a hard ass as that guy. Her stomach rumbled again and she went back to the task at hand, keeping her strength up.

An hour later the pear sat uneaten on the nightstand, but fortunately her stomach had been sated. She'd managed to loosen the knots around her wrists, but nowhere near enough to remove them yet. It was her bladder that spoke to her next. Her body was seriously beginning to piss her off with its demands. Didn't it realize they needed to work as a team right now to get the hell out of there? Maybe she could use this to her advantage.

She hid the hanger under the bed and yelled. "Hey! Danger boy!" That ought to get him riled up. "I need to pee!"

Nothing.

"Helloooooo..." She hollered as obnoxiously as possible. "Is anyone out there?"

She heard muted curses as heavy boots clunked toward the door. It flew open and danger guy stood there in a tizzy. "Quiet!"

"I need to go to the bathroom." She said flatly, though it was interesting to hear that he cared if she were to make noise. Did that mean there were others around who might hear and come to her rescue, or was she just interrupting their late night movie of choice?

He stared at her then relented with a sigh as she gave him her "defenseless little woman" face.

The bathroom was directly across from her so she never neared the front room where the second man was with the television. Danger boy opened the door, turned on the light and inspected the bathroom for anything she might use against them. He then exited and stood just outside crossing his arms over his chest and jerking his head for her to enter.

She held her hands up expectantly, but he just stared without making a move.

She scoffed, thoroughly annoyed. "You can't honestly expect me to go with my hands tied?"

His jaw clenched. "Make…"

"Ugh!" She growled. "I know. Make do." She finished for him shuffling into the bathroom and slamming the door in his face.

Not only was danger boy going to be the first she incapacitated. She was going to stomp him in the ribs with her stiletto for good measure.

After silencing her bladder and washing her hands as best as she could danger boy returned her to her room. She made her way back to the bed and sat as he bent down to retrieve the bag of trash from the floor. She shifted in front of where she'd placed the hanger afraid he might see it since there were no linens to hide it from view then cursed herself for the action. It drew his attention. His eyes narrowed on her and she tried not to bite her bottom lip. It was her worst tell. A split second later danger boy had flipped her legs up into the air sending her flat on her back against the mattress as he pulled the hanger from beneath it.

He cursed in Russian and she took offense at being called a fucking bitch by anyone, but especially by that asshole so she pulled both feet back and kicked him with all her might. He stumbled back nearly falling as she rose to her feet to make a run for it. She knew it was futile since her ankles were still bound, but she couldn't go out without a fight.

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground as she kicked and struggled to break free. Her arms were trapped under his so she chin-checked him with the back of her head causing him to curse again as he shouted for his partner. His arms tightened around her even more, squeezing the air from her lungs as he turned and slammed all one hundred and three pounds of her back down on the bed. The other man appeared in the doorway, eyes wide, as danger boy gave her a murderous glare which she returned. He ordered the other man to bring the chloroform and that's when she changed her tune.

"No. No, please. I'll be quiet. Just please don't drug me again. No! Don't... _**Somebody, help! Help me! Hellllllp!**_" She screamed and struggled as danger boy held one arm over both of hers and the other over her shoulders while the Frenchman covered her mouth and nose with the cloth.

_**xxxxx**_

Jason waited at the agreed upon spot just outside of Nice. It was early yet. The sun still labored to wake as its rays stretched sleepily over the village. He checked his watch and noted the time as an SUV parked a few feet from behind him. _They were on time. Good start._

He watched in his rear-view as two men stepped out. He recognized the driver as the one with the Russian accent that accompanied the Jackal the night before. They went to the rear of their vehicle and approached his car with a black duffel fitting the dimensions he'd been given. He pushed the button releasing the lid of his trunk as it popped open. He watched as the driver placed the bag inside while the second man stood as a lookout.

The Russian closed it back, pausing to make eye contact with Jason in the rear-view. It was a look that said they were good. He turned to walk back to his truck as the other man bent down to tie his shoe. He wouldn't need Mozart for this job after all, it seemed. He was glad. The chases were good to keep his skills sharp, but he much preferred a quiet exchange. He turned the key and pressed play on the stereo as Dido began singing about her heart behind tired eyes and being out all night. He then entered the ignition code and was on his way.

_**xxxxx**_

"Pinch it off." The Russian ordered as he zipped his fly and flushed the urinal.

"Three minutes!" The Frenchman grunted from the stall.

The Russian grimaced. "I'll be in the truck. Hurry or you'll be walking."

Etienne waited another minute until he heard the door click closed and knew he was alone. He pulled the special phone used for just such occasions from his pocket and made the call.

The other party picked up on the second ring.

"Verify." They instructed.

"Day trader." The Frenchman replied.

"Status?" His boss inquired.

"The package has been delivered as planned. He'll never suspect anything other than an ordinary road hazard."

"Was she harmed?"

Etienne sighed. "We had to drug her again. She was fighting Vas. I thought it safer than to risk him hurting her."

A minute of silence passed as Etienne held his breath.

"Pray this doesn't cost me –or you. Keep me posted." The caller informed before the line went dead, as dead as he knew he would be if he fell a millimeter out of step with any of the three bosses he took orders from.

He'd worked for her for nearly a decade before accepting the assignment as a plant within Alcazar's organization and the danger only increased when he'd been loaned out by Luis to handle a job for a very important business associate. Andre Karpov, it seemed, couldn't chance tying himself to the abduction of his own child. His boss had been fair throughout the years, but was not forgiving in nature. If his judgment cost them this chance, his years of loyal service would count very little toward saving his life. He would be as dead as if Karpov or Alcazar discovered his duplicity themselves. Etienne whispered a plea to Saint Jude as he re-pocketed his phone and hurried to the truck.

_**xxxxx**_

She awoke with a start as her calf muscle contracted, refusing to relax. She cried out fruitlessly breathing heavy through the pain. She had no idea how long she'd been out this time, but her limbs were still bound and more tape had been placed over her mouth. She was confined in a tiny space with a course fabric brushing against her as she struggled to massage her cramping limb. It was hard to breathe. _Oh God. Have I been __buried alive?_ She freaked then quickly disregarded that notion as her other senses kicked in.

She heard music. Was that… Dido? Were her kidnappers getting in touch with their softer side? She felt the hum of tires against the pavement. She was moving so she must be in some type of vehicle. The air smelled of that new car smell. Whatever she was on definitely wasn't as cushioned as an upholstered seat and the music was loud, but muted. She must be stuffed in someone's trunk. Inside, what she had now guessed was some kind of bag.

She felt the wheel closest to her begin to shudder with a loud flap as rubber slapped pavement. The car slowed to a stop and she heard one door shut and then another. She tried her best to make her presence known, but the effects of the drug hadn't worn off yet. Every thought, every movement was formed in slow motion. She didn't even have the strength to call out.

_**xxxxx**_

The CD continued to play as the female vocalist insisted on thanking someone. It was turning out to be an enjoyable ride along the mountainside until the rumble and flap of an all too familiar sensation took hold.

"Flat!" Jason spat like a curse.

He pulled onto the gravel and silenced the engine. He pulled the keys and removed his belt before stepping out to inspect the damage. Sure enough the rear passenger-side tire was flat. He must have caught a nail from the construction zone he'd passed a few miles back.

He kicked the tire in frustration. This would throw him off schedule. He hated being off schedule. He opened the front passenger door and removed his jacket and folded it before tossing it on the seat. He loosened the narrow black tie at his neck and rolled up his cuffs.

He popped the trunk for the spare, doing a double-take as his package… moved.

What the fuck seemed an appropriate thought as it crossed his mind. This was a first for him. He'd delivered people from one point to another many times, but it had always been willingly, as far as he knew. He doubted he could say the same for whomever was stuffed in that bag.

Sam moved her body as much as she could the minute she heard the trunk open. In her mind she was screaming out for help, but in reality it was a slight moan at best.

The revelation of just what he was transporting had thrown him for a minute, but then his survival code kicked in, his rules. The deal was the deal. No names. No looking inside the package. This was business and he had a deal to conclude. Besides, who said there was a person in there? Maybe it was some kind of exotic animal.

He pushed the bag out of the way and could feel the form of a small body inside. Damn, he cursed. So much for that exotic animal theory. He retrieved the jack and full-sized replacement and proceeded to change the tire.

Ten minutes later Jason placed the damaged tire where the spare had been along with the jack and closed the trunk. He fixed his sleeves, pulled his jacket back on then adjusted his tie before sitting behind the wheel once more. He buckled up and was on his way again with hardly a second thought.

It was thirty minutes later and halfway to the drop point when he made his one scheduled stop for refreshment. He sat at a little table of a small roadside café washing down a sandwich with a bottle of mineral water, telling himself all the while to stop staring at his trunk. He couldn't take his eyes off of it though or stop himself from wondering just who was in the bag.

They were small. They had to be to fit in that bag. Was it a child? There was no way he could be party to kidnapping a kid, but the trouble that would bring down on him made him not want to pursue that line of thought another minute. He was better off not knowing, but could he live with himself if he'd help steal a child and deliver them into who knew what level of hell? The Jackal might be running with the Russian mafia and those guys were into all kinds of ugliness.

He sighed as he finished his lunch and disposed of the waste before pulling a straw from a dispenser and a bottle of Orangina he'd already paid for from the refrigerated display. He returned to his vehicle and drove down the road another fifteen minutes until he reached a deserted overlook and stopped.

He got out of the car and halted in front of his trunk. He hesitated and cursed himself for what he was about to do. He was about to break his own rule, one of the rules that had kept him alive and well so far in a very dangerous business. He was about to open the package, or was he?

He decided to make a deal with himself. If he opened the package and it was a child he would do what needed to be done to help, but if it was anyone else he would give them the drink then go back to business as usual.

Sam was more awake now and when she heard the car stop again she prepared herself for a fight. They may not let her out of the bag, but she was going to raise so much hell inside it that it would be sure to cause a scene if they were anywhere public.

His finger hovered over the trunk release a moment longer before surrendering. The lid popped up and he unzipped the bag.

Holy Hell. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found inside.

She was small, but she was no child. She was… something, something that took his breath away. She had to be the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Her head poked up out of the bag and he could see that she was bound and gagged. Dark chocolate hair fell in soft layers around her delicate shoulders with whiskey eyes that had been set ablaze with a golden fire ignited by the sun. He was speechless. But she wasn't.

It took her by surprise when her captor actually opened the bag. She inhaled as deep of a breath of fresh air as she could with her mouth still covered. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and when she did she was stilled by confusion.

This wasn't either one of the men who'd taken her. She must have slept through the exchange and she had no idea where she was or what this man's intentions were with her. There was only a slight comfort in the hope that he wouldn't be stupid enough to harm Andre Karpov's heir, not that she would ever accept a dime from dear old dad. The way he made his fortune disgusted her to her core.

She stared up at the man momentarily lost in the blueness of his eyes as he gazed down at her. He was dressed far more professionally than danger boy or Frenchie. They hadn't worn suits and especially not designer originals hand-tailored for a custom fit. She'd grown up surrounded by luxury and could spot a seven thousand dollar ensemble when she saw one. She wondered if that meant he was higher up in her father's pecking order.

The thought of her father doing this to her brought anger coursing through her and broke her from her trance. She began thrashing to remove herself from the bag and cursing up a storm. She might not be in the position to lash out at the man she had a sneaking suspicion was responsible, but she was going to take a piece of every one of his minions that crossed her –starting with this creep.

Jason's eyebrows rose in surprise. He couldn't make out all she was saying, but he was pretty sure he hadn't heard such creative streams of curses since his days in the service. _Boy, is she pissed!_ Even in that vulnerable state, against a man nearly three times her size, she appeared ready and willing to take him on. A part of him admired that about her, but he quickly beat that sentiment into submission. She wasn't a child. He would give her the drink then it was back to business.

"Whoa! Whoa!" He ordered in the manner a man might command a stage coach gone wild. He held his hands up in front of him to suggest he meant no harm which wasn't exactly true since he had no intentions of letting her go, but he needed her to be still long enough to finish the drink so he could get back on the road.

_Whoa? Whoa? Did he just order me to halt like an animal?_ She narrowed her eyes at him and breathed hard and fast causing her nostrils to flare. All the extra movement had tired her out and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She stared at him with a clenched jaw wishing like hell she was free so she could show him just what she thought of his flunky ass and over-priced power suit.

She stopped moving so he figured he'd move on to step two. "I'm going to pull out my knife now."

He waited for her to scream or thrash about again, but she just stared at him with a burning hatred that set his skin on fire. Her only tell of anything other than fury had been the way her eyes widened briefly at the word knife.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to cut a hole in the tape so you can drink this." He pulled the bottle of Orangina from his pocket to show her.

Her brows furrowed in first confusion followed by skepticism. He waited for her consent before making another move. Finally, she nodded and he removed the switchblade from his pocket and flipped it open. It was razor sharp and a quick flick of the wrist left her with a half inch slit in the tape between her lips. He re-pocketed the knife and twisted the cap. He pulled the straw from his other pocket, inserted it into the bottle and bent it to fit into her mouth.

_Man, am I thirsty._ Her mouth was full of cotton most likely due to lack of sufficient fluids and being drugged. She hated this guy for his part in all of this, but she would have been grateful to the devil himself at the moment if he'd given her ice water and this was just as good. She sucked it down as fast as she could, afraid he would decide she'd had enough before she was done. She studied him as she drank.

His dirty blond hair was cropped short all around with an inch or more up top that stuck out every which way. It was the only disorganized thing about him from what she could see. It was unruly and yet he'd allowed it to remain that way which meant as cultivated as he appeared to be there was another part of him that was untamed, rebellious even, which he seemed to acknowledge if not embrace. His given vocation seemed to support this theory.

He was tall, at least six feet and well built. His chiseled features weren't unattractive at all. He was actually rather good looking. The fact that he worked for her father had to be the ugliest thing about him. He wasn't French. She'd realized this the moment he first spoke. He was American and that surprised her. Her father rarely trusted Americans with business and any business having to do with her would be of highest importance. He must be really good at whatever he did and proven himself many times over for her dad to trust him alone with her. She assumed they were alone since she hadn't heard anyone else any of the times they'd stopped. Well, whatever he was really good at she would just have to be better. She needed to get away while there was only one of them.

Jason stood there holding the drink for her as she sipped greedily from the straw.

"Slow." He instructed. It wouldn't do for her to choke to death. He was sure whoever wanted this package wanted her to arrive alive.

She looked up at him with perplexed curiosity as she drank and there was something so completely vulnerable about her in that moment that he felt his heart thud a little harder. Before he knew it, he'd brushed a lock of hair from her face and behind her ear. He blinked at the action and stared at the hand that had betrayed him then gripped it into a fist and pulled it away.

Sam watched as his hand slowly approached her face and stroked the stubborn strands from her cheek. She could tell from his reaction it had caught him as off guard as her. She wasn't sure what to make of it. It hadn't felt threatening at all. In fact, under other circumstances she would have found the sensation highly enjoyable, but she could never enjoy the touch of any man who could treat women this way or work for her father. She wasn't sure why she was so sold on the idea that her father had orchestrated this and not some unknown threat, but it made sense considering what she'd uncovered about his business. She was a threat to that highly profitable venture and he knew it and this felt exactly like something her father would do to teach her a lesson.

There was something about her that was getting to him and he couldn't have that. He needed to shove her back in the bag before he screwed himself over for a woman he didn't even know. And he didn't need to know either, he reminded himself. No names. He rushed her to finish drinking as she gulped a few more sips. "That's enough."

He pulled the straw then recapped the bottle and shoved it back into his pocket.

"Good girl." He patronized as he stuffed her head back into the bag and zipped it closed.

He ignored her cries of outrage and muffled expletives as she realized her fate had not changed then slammed the trunk closed before he could second guess himself.

He was back on the road for another twenty minutes when the screaming and kicking started up again. He pulled over on another deserted overlook. The mountain roads up there were full of them. He sighed then opened the trunk and the bag.

She mumbled something he couldn't understand, but there was urgency in her eyes.

"I'm going to take the tape off. If you scream, I'll have to kill you. Understand?" He threatened with a stern finger shaking.

It was an empty threat of course. He could never kill a woman, but she didn't know that.

She nodded her head and shouted out as he removed the tape from her mouth.

"I have to pee." She told him. It hadn't worked for her back at the dilapidated hotel, but she figured it was worth another shot.

He stared down at her considering the request.

"Unless you want me to do it in your car." She issued flatly, but there was a trace of contempt too.

That statement pretty much sealed the deal. There was no way in hell he wanted the stench of urine anywhere in his car.

"Okay." He slapped the tape back over her mouth then lifted the entire duffel from his car and set it on the gravel.

Her arms were tied behind her again and she used them to help push her up as she wiggled free of the bag. She watched as he pulled a length of rope from his trunk then fashioned a loop at the end and tightened it around her neck.

"What the hell?" She mumbled then wondered if he could actually make out what she was saying with the way he looked at her.

"I'm going to take my knife out again. Okay? Don't scream. It's to cut you free."

She refused to flinch as the blade snapped open in front of her. She focused on as many details as she could. She ran the plates over in her head. There was no make or model of the car on the back, but she could tell it was a fairly new black BMW. She'd been taught long ago that information was power and you never knew what little detail might come in handy later.

Jason cut the rope from her wrists as she rubbed them with her hands then moved on to the rope at her ankles. She moved to pull the tape from her mouth, but he stopped her. "You don't need your mouth to pee."

Asshole, she thought as her eyes narrowed at him.

He helped her to her feet then held the rope at her neck. He held up his left hand to look at his watch. She glanced down at it. Correction, she amended silently, _thirteen_ thousand dollar ensemble. He was obviously well-compensated for whatever other heinous acts he performed for her father and, as with her first abductors, she had little faith of talking him into a change of heart.

He pointed to the bushes just off the overlook. "You have one minute."

_One minute? Was he serious?_

He held his watch up in front of him again. "55… 54…"

Apparently, he was. Good thing she didn't actually have to pee, but she'd hoped to have more time to get away.

"53… 52… " He called out as she turned and started to run.

Her legs were still a bit shaky, but she ignored that and pressed on. It may be her last chance to escape and to find those women before all traces of them were erased.

She disappeared behind the bushes as he fed the length of rope to give her more lead. She was petite. She couldn't be five foot six even with the four inch heels, and light. He'd lifted her to her feet with ease. She couldn't weigh much more than forty-five kilograms, if that. He chided himself for breaking the rules and for thinking about the woman when he should be thinking about what the woman was up to.

"Fifteen!" He called out then began to coil the rope as he walked over to the edge of the pull off.

"Seven." He called, getting an uneasy feeling when he didn't hear a sound.

"Two! Times up!" He told her then tugged at the rope.

It didn't budge. "Don't make me drag you out."

He pulled a little harder then began to follow the rope down the gradual slope of the mountain. He rounded a tree and another couple of bushes to find she'd tied it off to a branch.

"Shit!" He cursed and looked out over the vast expanse of wilderness covering the terrain. _Where the hell did he start?_

He decided on the clearing that appeared to be a mountain bike trail. He looked down and saw she'd broken the heels off her shoes to move quicker. Smart.

Sam was running for her life. She wasn't sure what the man behind her was capable of if angered and she didn't want to find out. She had to make it to safety so she could help those women. Women, she cringed. Most were younger than her and barely legal.

She ran full force wishing for better traction than the slippery tread of her slaughtered Louboutin's. She jumped a fallen tree blocking her path and kept running. She tried to keep her focus in front of her as she'd been trained, but so much more than her own freedom was riding on her success. She had to get away. She took a quick peek behind to gauge if she was being pursued and lost her footing. She slipped and slid down a sudden decline toward a small riverbed, but she didn't take time to brush herself off. She jumped up and kept moving.

Jason found the piece of tape that had covered her mouth a ways down the trail and knew he was on the right path. He increased his speed and spotted her running parallel along a narrow bed of water below. His training had taught him just how to maneuver to get the upper hand. He practically jumped in front of her and she fell back with a shout.

"No, please!" Was all she got out before he covered her mouth with the piece of tape he'd retrieved.

She tried to slap and fight him off, but he restrained her arms. He was strong and unless she thought of something quick she was going back in that trunk.

Suddenly, she fainted. She fell into him as he prevented her fall and as he brought her to his chest she swiftly kneed him between his legs.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ was the only thing running through his mind for a good three minutes as he watched her retreat back up the trail that led to his car. He willed for air to rush back into his lungs and for the strength to return to his legs as he cupped himself.

Sam had never been so thankful for the two years she'd run cross at school. She made it back to his car in record time and used the keys she'd lifted from his pockets to unlock the door and get in. She locked the doors behind her and turned the key ready to race off, but it didn't start. She turned it frantically several more times before realizing there must be a switch interrupting the signal to the engine.

She searched under the dash and around the front seat. She pushed on a cover in the console and it sprung open to reveal a keypad. "Great," She huffed. She'd heard of systems like this before but never disarmed one. She needed the code to start the car or the proper tools to crack it.

How the hell was she going to figure out his code before he got back and broke through the glass? She began searching the visors, glove box and other compartments hoping for a clue as to what it might be. Maybe he'd actually been dumb enough to write it down. She couldn't help notice how spotless everything was as she searched. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. "Man." She said to herself. "He sure loves his car. He treats it better than people."

She glanced down at the manual she'd thumbed through now sitting in her lap as a thought occurred to her. "It couldn't be that easy, could it?"

He made his way back to the car not surprised to find it still sitting there. He stormed around to the driver's side as he realized she'd not only taken him down with that swift kick, but also picked his pockets while she was at it.

"Hah!" He gloated as he slapped the glass to get her attention. "Keys won't do you any good without an ignition code."

Sam just looked up at him with contempt in her eyes and a wicked grin.

"Five, three, seven, nine, nine!" She shouted at him through the glass taking satisfaction in wiping that smug smirk off his face.

_How the hell did she figure out my code so fast?_ He hadn't left it written down anywhere. Panic filled him as he watched her begin to enter the code. He quickly reached under the front wheel well and pulled a hidden key from its hiding spot. He managed to get the door open just as she put the car in drive.

Sam tried to fight him for control, but he simply out-powered her.

He was able to force his way into the driver seat with her and push her away from the pedals and wheel. She was still slapping and fighting him until he'd pushed her into the passenger seat completely and stopped the car again. She resigned herself to running once more and as soon as the car stopped she attempted to bolt, but he caught her by the arm and held on tight. He put the discarded piece of tape resting on his floorboard back over her mouth and carried her back to his trunk to tie her up with some of the rope he'd used before. It was still lying nearby as well as the bag she'd been in.

He'd worked up a sweat and nearly ruined his suit. He was winded and his groin still throbbed. He definitely hadn't charged enough for this job.

This was her last chance to change his mind and, as pointless as it may be, she had to try.

"Don't do this!" She begged. "You have to stop. There isn't any time. I need to save them!"

That was all she could get out before her voice and vision was silenced once again.

He slammed the trunk closed and growled. She'd pissed him off, but he was really angry with himself for breaking his own rules. He wouldn't break them again. He'd made a deal with himself that he would only intervene if he'd found a child in the bag. _Rule __One: The deal was the deal. Once it was made it could not be changed or renegotiated._ He kept reminding himself of this for the remaining fifteen minutes of the ride.

Minutes later Jason pulled up to the front gate of the estate. The guard waved him through and he trailed up the drive to the front of the main house. It was palatial… and accessorized with armed guards. Two of them stood behind a third man waiting for him as he drove up. It must be the man the Jackal had tried to name before he'd cut him off. He was tall with dark features sporting a designer suit that fit him well. His striking good looks and Hollywood swagger suggested he would never need to resort to kidnapping a woman for her company, but the lethal gleam in his eyes told Jason that wouldn't stop him from doing it anyway.

The job was almost done. Just be cool and stick to the deal, he told himself as he stepped from the car.

"You're late." Luis accused. He wasn't accustomed to being kept waiting.

Jason could hear the dissatisfaction in his tone, but responded coolly as he retrieved the bag from his trunk and closed it. "Ran into a little problem."

"Nothing serious?" The man questioned.

"Nothing serious." Jason reassured.

He walked the bag over to him and placed it on the ground. The two guards retrieved it and began to walk away. Jason couldn't keep his eyes off of it as it retreated out of sight. He heard a muffled cry and his heart thudded again. Dammit, he lectured himself. _Stick to the deal. Stick to the deal!_

Luis observed the way the tranporter's eyes lingered on the bag. He didn't like it and he didn't trust it. "Did you open the package?"

"Rule Three," Jason recited. "Never open the package."

Luis studied him speculatively before a sly smile spread across his lips. "I like that. Rules, you can't get anything done in the world without rules."

He descended a step putting him on equal standing with the man in front of him. "You're a foreigner, right?"

Jason didn't respond.

Alcazar continued unperturbed. "This is a nice little thing you've got going for yourself here; high class, good reputation."

Jason nodded in acknowledgment.

"I didn't get your name."

"Rule two," Jason informed. "No names."

He was ready for the deal to be over and hoped it was the last he would see of that man.

"Of course." Luis smiled as he pulled an envelope from inside his suit jacket.

Jason accepted it and pocketed it without opening.

"You're not going to count it?" Luis was surprised.

Jason huffed. He didn't want to be in that man's company a second longer than necessary. "Why? Should I?"

"No, no need." Luis assured.

"That concludes the deal." Jason told him as he turned and headed for his car.

"I was wondering..." Luis addressed him as Jason opened his door. "If you wouldn't mind transporting something for me. That is what you do, right? You deliver, no questions asked."

Jason paused before answering. "Why not?" The man was right. It was what he did after all.

He closed his car door and stepped back over to the man.

"Weight?" He inquired.

Luis accepted the titanium briefcase from another guard that brought it out to him.

"Maybe a kilo." He estimated.

"Destination?" Jason asked.

"Grenoble. Three Oh six Rue de Lac." Was the response.

"A mister…" Jason held up his hand before Luis could finish.

"Oh, right." He smiled. "I forgot, rule two."

Luis motioned for the guard to extend another payment for the second job and Jason accepted once again without counting. Luis handed him the briefcase and Jason got back in his car with no further adieu.

Luis watched him drive away as a deadly smile crept onto the corners of his mouth.

_**xxxxx**_

"He's made delivery and is leaving the property now." The Jackal informed as he watched the security feed from his laptop. "Are you sure…" He intended to question his instructions one last time before being cut short.

"If he leaves her there, he dies." His boss confirmed.

"It's just that I think he may be of good use later. It would be such a terrible waste of talent not to mention…" he was cut off again before his argument could build any more steam.

"Spinelli!" His boss snapped then sighed. "We gave him a chance to show his true character and he failed. He cannot be trusted and he will not get away with what he's done."

The young man gulped then acknowledged his compliance. He knew better than to question the cold finality of those words. She was one of the most lethal adversaries he'd ever known and it was healthier to remain with her than against her. He didn't have to be a genius to know that much.

_**xxxxx**_

It was insane. What he was contemplating was not only career-suicide, it just might be _actual_ suicide. He was one man and that was a huge estate that must have at least ten to fifteen armed guards patrolling it. Even if he could make his way past the gate undetected there was still the matter of taking out at least one guard unarmed before he could acquire a weapon. Not to mention, his chances of finding the woman before reinforcements showed up wasn't great.

_No._ He shook his head as he tried to finish off a last bite of food he wasn't even hungry for any longer. It was better to walk away. He'd already walked away so what difference would it make to keep on walking? It was a poor logic that was doing little to convince him not to change his mind. He couldn't get her face out of his head or the whiskey eyes he'd been lost in or her spirit. She'd been trying to tell him something, something that seemed important, but he hadn't wanted to hear what she was saying. He was afraid to hear anything that might make him break another rule.

Those rules had kept him alive when his emotions had done their best to destroy what was left of him. If he turned his back on them now and allowed his emotions to gain control again he just might not survive the outcome this time. He wouldn't claim to be the happiest man alive, but he had gotten back a will to live. He was content with his life now and it had been years since he could say that and mean it.

He exhaled in frustration as the image of her face replayed its way through his memory. His fingers twitched in recollection of the softness of her skin when he'd brushed the hair from her cheek.

It was abso-fucking-lutely insane. But he was going to do it anyway. And whatever it was that passed for the remainder of his conscience reminded him he should have done it in the first place. His grandmother would be ashamed of him carrying her name if she knew what he'd done. She had been forgiving, understanding even of many wrongs he'd made in his life, but that would not be one of them. And that was just one more reason his initial decision didn't sit right with him.

He stood from the little table of the gas station he'd stopped at to refuel and tossed his trash in the can as he walked back to his car. He passed an Orangina machine on his way out and stopped after a few more steps. It made him think of her. He wondered if they had already mistreated her in any way, if she was still thirsty or hungry.

He put some change into the machine and retrieved the can of orange soda from the tray. He was walking back to his car, strategizing the best way to get her out of there when his car exploded in his face. He was no more than twenty feet away when the force of the blast sent him throttling in the air cracking the windshield of a nearby car when he landed.

He watched as a fire ball enveloped what was left of his BMW and felt his blood boil. He'd completed the deal honorably as far as they knew and they wanted him dead anyway. His jaw clenched as tight as his fists. This was no way to conduct business. They'd just made this personal. Someone had a death wish and he would see to it they got exactly what they wanted.

_**xxxxx**_

Jason didn't wait around for police to question him. Instead he pulled off in an unattended car when the owner went inside to pay. He abandoned the vehicle a couple of streets over. He couldn't just stroll up to the main entrance, so he surveilled the perimeter on foot for a better point of entry. The estate was surrounded by a solid eight foot wall, but he found a spot along the side that was vulnerable. He climbed a massive chestnut tree rooted six feet from the wall and balanced himself along one of the branches far enough to leap toward it. He gripped the top with both hands as he fell against it and pulled himself up and over.

He landed just inside the property behind thick foliage, but was met with no resistance. He approached the main house from the side, entering with care, but a guard stepped into the hall before he could hide and raised his gun to fire at him. Jason advanced on him quickly and delivered three blows disarming his opponent and rendering him unconscious before a single bullet could be fired. He claimed the weapon for his own and continued down the hall clearing rooms left and right as he passed.

Stealth was his best tactic in that situation, but that had been ruined when he took out the first guard. He didn't have much time until his body was discovered. Now he was just in a hurry to find the woman and get out of there by any means necessary. He turned a corner and was greeted by another guard who got off a shot before he could silence him. This alerted three more who came running as a firefight broke out.

Jason dove behind an antique chest as it was riddled with bullets meant for him. He waited for a lull and returned fire taking two of the three out before ducking behind another piece of furniture.

After trading a few more rounds with the third guy, Jason clipped him in the hand forcing him to drop his weapon. He kept him alive long enough to inquire about the woman. He shot him in the leg when the guy refused to talk and then aimed the gun at his privates before he finally shouted out "downstairs" and pointed toward a door.

Jason left him alive and bleeding on the floor as he headed in the direction he'd been pointed. He pulled the door open and nearly missed an axe being swung at his head. It lodged itself into the wood giving Jason enough time to aim and fire two shots dead center into the guard's upper torso. _Who brings an axe to a gunfight?_ He ran down the stairs and peeked around the corner ensuring the room was clear before he made himself a larger target.

The room was empty with only three exits. There was the one he just came down, one set of glass doors that led outside and another door he wasn't sure about. A wooden chair that stood in the middle of the spacious room garnered his attention. Closer inspection revealed remnants of burnt rope on the floor nearby and an abandoned piece of duct tape.

A half smile formed on his lips as he realized she must have gotten free again, but his brows furrowed trying to decide what direction she'd gone. He ran to the glass doors, but didn't spot her out back. He hadn't passed her coming down so that left only one other door. He flung it open and entered with his gun drawn spanning for targets as he moved.

It was a four car garage. He scanned the cars. The first two were covered, but the third and fourth were not. He passed by the jag convertible for the last car when he spotted a familiar hue of dark chocolate in the driver's seat barely visible as her head ducked below the dash.

He sighed in relief. He was so wrong to have left her before, but it wasn't too late to make it right. He ran over to her door and swung it open. Reinforcements could arrive any time and they needed to get the hell out of there.

Sam's head jerked above the dash as the door swung open stunning her into inaction as she watched the jerk that left her step into view.

"This one's taken." She informed matter-of-fact as she went back to accessing the wires below. "Get your own."

Jason scoffed. "I had my own until one of your friends blew it up a half hour ago."

"Friends my ass!" Sam replied heatedly. "And…" She spared him a second glance as she worked. "Not my problem. Serves you right anyway, asshole."

Guilt belly flopped in his gut. "I was coming back for you."

She stopped what she was doing to look up at him. He almost made her laugh. "Right. Sorry. You must be this honest," she held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, "to ride this ride. If you were so anxious to come save me, why the hell were you just trying to leave without me?"

She held up her hand when he started to speak. "Save it for some other sucker." Then she went back to weeding through for the right wires she'd just pulled.

"It's the truth!" Jason exclaimed. "I stopped for gas and couldn't get that last look you gave me out of my mind. I forced a guard to tell me where they'd stashed you. I worked my way down to the basement and found the burned rope and the tape on the floor. I figured you would have headed for the nearest exit so I ended up in the garage and approached this car when I noticed the top of your head in it."

Sam studied him hard. His words seemed sincere enough, but she was still stuck on something else. "What look?"

Jason wiped his hand over his mouth to tamp down the smirk that wanted to come out and play. "That look that said you couldn't wait to get free again so you could come find me and kick my ass for what I was doing to you."

"Oh. That look." Sam looked away from him. "Yeah, well… whatever." She told him, preoccupied once again with the task at hand.

She sparked two wires together and the engine hummed to life. "Look I'd love to sit and chat about old times, but, you know, I'm sure you've got places to be too. More people to screw over." She mumbled loud enough for him to hear as she pulled on the door to close it, but the stubborn ass wouldn't move.

"Do you mind?" She said now totally annoyed.

"I'm serious." Jason told her as his body stood firm preventing her feeble attempts to shut it. "I was coming back for you. I was walking back to my car to turn around and come get you. If I hadn't taken the extra minute to get you another drink, I would've blown up with it."

Sam took in his words and noticed the red mark on the side of his face for the first time. He'd been burned and his jacket, shirt and tie looked singed. Why should she care if he was almost blown up? He performed jobs for despicable men like Alcazar and her father, but there was something in his eyes that was different from her father or Alcazar or any of the other men that worked for them. There was sincerity within all that blue. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he did have a change of heart. "You got me another drink?"

Jason nodded, not sure why that of all things mattered, but answering anyway.

"Okay." She told him. "Get in."

Jason hid the smile that wanted to show itself as he moved to do just that.

First thing in the morning, he told himself, I'm buying stock in Orangina.

Page 24 of 24 Created: 2012-02-12 Updated: 2013-06-05 Words: 10059 Characters: 53454


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"Move it!" He ordered as he slid behind the wheel and pushed her over into the front passenger seat.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "Watch the manhandling or next time I'll introduce you to my right knee."

"Doubtful." Jason huffed as he put the car in drive.

"I'm not letting you that close to me ever again you little thief." He finished as he plowed the luxury sedan straight through the garage door.

Splintered wood scattered to the sides falling to the ground in their wake as they soared down the drive headed for the main gate at full speed.

"Which reminds me." He told her. "You stole my lucky lighter didn't you?"

Sam smiled in satisfaction. "You really shouldn't make it so easy."

"I don't." He insisted as they busted through the gate without stopping and raced down the street.

"So you're admitting that I'm just that good?" Sam grinned as an inner glee bubbled to the surface.

Jason glanced over at her. There had been a smile in her voice as she said that and he wanted to see if it was on her face too. It was.

"I've never seen someone take such pride in pick-pocketing."

"It's a skill." She shrugged. "A skill that saved my life today I might add."

"So you _are_ admitting you stole my lighter." Jason accused.

"What's so lucky about it?" She refused to answer on the grounds that she didn't have to tell him shit.

He took her refusal to answer as an admission of guilt. "Didn't you just say having it in your possession saved your life? Well, not having it nearly cost mine."

Sam looked at him like he was crazy. "What could a lighter have done to stop a bomb?"

Jason was now the one refusing to answer. He remained silent and overly focused on the road.

"Wait!" Sam laughed as it occurred to her. "You don't actually believe it's like good luck lucky do you? Like a rabbit foot or something?" This guy was so serious. He couldn't possibly believe in silly superstitions.

Jason was silent for another minute before he finally spoke. "All I know, is that lighter was the one difference between me and a lot of other guys who weren't so lucky to come back alive and in one piece."

An old boss, more like friend or brother, had given him that lighter the day he left for special ops training. It hadn't left Jason's possession since. Maybe it was dumb to believe that lighter was what kept him safe, but it was the only difference he could see between him and the rest of his men that hadn't been so fortunate.

His tone was suddenly somber and for a tiny moment there was something so vulnerable about him when he spoke of his past and then it was gone again, lost behind a wall of stone. Still, Sam could see whether it was actually lucky or not it held a lot of value to him. Just as a bracelet she'd once been given meant so much to her. She was glad she'd left her most valued possession someplace safe, but she missed not having it around her wrist. It comforted her much the same way she bet his lighter comforted him.

She reached into her bra and pulled it out. She rubbed her fingers over it as she admired it. It was plated in black titanium with gold wings flanking the front and back of it. There was a script embossed in gold on the front that read The Angel's Wings. Below it was a smaller font that read Limited Edition VIII with the numbers 0001/1000. It was the very first ever made in a series of one thousand. Firsts were rarely sold to the public. They were usually given as special gifts by the creators which made her curious how he'd come to own it.

"Here." Sam handed it back to him.

"Sorry I stole it." She apologized, unable to look his way.

"I'm not." He replied as he welcomed it back into his possession. He caressed his thumb over it enjoying the warmth it held from having been nestled against her breast.

Her head swung to him of its own volition at his admission.

He ventured a glance at her as well and could see the confusion his words created.

"It kept you alive until I could find you." He explained simply.

Her brows furrowed. The man was full of contradictions. First he calls her out for stealing then tells her he's glad she did it. He chases her down through the woods and insists on delivering her to a lowlife like Luis then risks his life to get her back. She was confused by him and this most recent revelation, but something about it felt nice.

Maybe she should fear him, but she didn't and she wasn't sure why. She didn't completely trust him, but she believed him when he said he was coming back for her. There weren't many men… _any_ men she knew that would shoot up Luis Alcazar's estate and go against Andre Karpov's orders just because it was the right thing to do, just… for _her_. She turned her head away to hide the smile that grew, still puzzled by the man beside her.

They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes. Jason was surprised to be the one to break it. He usually embraced the quiet, but something was nagging at him. He knew he should probably ask her name first or just how much shit he'd brought down on himself by helping her, but he wasn't yet sure if he wanted those answers. The more he knew, the more invested he might become. "How did you figure out the code?"

Sam tore her eyes and her thoughts to the present and glanced his way. She thought his first question might have been to ask her name or what kind of trouble she was in. Instead it was about his car. Typical male, she chuckled. "You baby this car like it's a prized possession. Wasn't hard to figure the code would center around your obvious obsession. I mean really, the model and year backwards? It was practically idiot-proof."

A scowl crossed his face. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. He pursed his lips in consternation not realizing it always made his lower lip poke out when he did.

Sam looked back over at him expecting some kind of response by now and noticed his bottom lip. "Are you gonna cry about it?"

She couldn't help teasing him. He actually looked like he might.

Jason cut his eyes at her and sucked in that bottom lip as his jaw tightened. He turned his attention back to the road, ignoring her.

Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. She'd spent the last twenty minutes figuring out her next move and had to admit it would go a lot easier with someone like him on her side which frustrated her. She wasn't used to relying on people and she hated asking for help. People usually let her down, or just plain up and disappeared on her whenever she began to get too close and she doubted he would help her anyway. Alone was better, she sighed.

Her brain was tired and she was teaming with impatience. There was nothing she could do until she got back to the hotel she'd been kidnapped from and retrieved the package she'd left for herself under an alias in the hotel's safe.

She looked out the window and blew air up into her bangs in frustration. Why was he driving so incredibly slow? "Are we gonna get there today granny?"

Jason exhaled forcefully, but didn't speak.

"I thought you were supposed to be some kind of expert wheel man." She continued to goad.

His face scrunched. _She's heard about me?_ "Why would you think that?"

Sam shrugged with her arms still folded under her breasts. Jason glanced over and turned back quickly ordering himself not to pay attention to the enticing things that pose did to her cleavage. "I heard this kid back at the mansion talking about you after you left. It was before they brought me downstairs. He was going on and on like you're some kind of badass driver. Guess he was half right. You are pretty bad."

"Would you prefer to ride in the trunk?"

_Why did I have to get her talking?_ She'd been quiet for a good twenty minutes. He may have been lucky to make it another twenty if he'd kept his curiosity in check.

"Would you prefer to keep your genitals intact?" Sam snapped right back.

Jason smirked. Damn, she was feisty. It was almost to the point of being reckless, but he liked it. He liked her spirit. He'd never come across another woman like her.

"Was that a smile?" Sam asked incredulously. She was beginning to think his facial muscles incapable of the movement.

Jason immediately sobered. "I don't smile."

Sam grinned at the flush appearing on his neck. She'd embarrassed him. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want." He shrugged. "It's true."

"I bet I could get you to smile." She challenged and looked back out at the road ahead.

"I'm not so sure." Jason shook his head slightly from side to side. "I don't think it's possible for you to shut up long enough to make me that happy."

He could suddenly feel the heat of her glare on his skin and that almost made him want to smile again. It was fun getting under her skin.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a charming personality?" She suddenly wanted to know.

"No." He admitted honestly. He didn't recall ever being complimented that way, though he bet Jason Quartermaine had heard it a million times or more from what he'd been told about the man.

"Well they were right." She told him flatly as she looked back out her window to the peaks and valleys in the distance.

They fell into another silence for a while after that. Jason had more questions, but he forced himself to maintain the silence as long as she did. He was surprised at how difficult that was for him. He'd never met anyone that made him care to know more about them, not personally at least. There were lots of contacts he associated with that required background checks, but that was business.

Sam sighed deep. She couldn't take the silence any longer so she reached for the stereo.

Jason watched her hand rest on the dial. "What are you doing?"

Sam rolled her eyes ignoring him. He wanted her to shut up. She would give him his wish. She decided not to talk to him again until he apologized for that last remark. She found a good song and stopped on it. She used to love this song and hadn't heard it in a while.

Jason listened to the heavy hitting beat of the drums with the adrenaline pumping guitar riffs as the lead singer's feelings screamed from the speakers. "What is this?"

Sam looked at him thoughtfully. He hadn't apologized yet and she didn't want to answer, but couldn't resist. "Sabotage by the Beastie Boys."

Jason nodded as if he knew what the heck she just said. _Did she just say beastie?_

"Why?" Sam said. "You like it?"

Jason considered her question for a couple seconds then nodded.

"Good." She replied as she turned from his profile to face forward again. "You should play it whenever you drive. Maybe it'll help keep you awake."

Jason turned the volume down from the control on the steering wheel. "Are you saying I'm asleep at the wheel?"

"I don't think I have to say it." Sam replied confidently. "You just said it for me."

"You know." Jason replied, feeling indignation creep up his spine as he sat straighter in his seat. "If you spent more time thinking about why I might be driving this way instead of cracking jokes about it, you might be a little more appreciative."

Sam just looked at him thoughtfully again taking his words as a challenge. She looked back out the window trying to figure it out.

Jason felt himself smirk again. "You need a hint?"

He just couldn't seem to help himself from trying to piss her off.

Sam cut her eyes at him and thought about slapping him, but decided to land the blow with her words instead. "Contrary to the women you must be familiar with _I_ am not an airhead."

"We're heading away from a shootout..." She began. "In a stolen vehicle from said location. You're keeping it under the limit to avoid unwanted attention from the police… or worse."

One of his brows rose and she could tell he was impressed. "You're good."

"No." She negated. "I'm damn good."

He pursed his lips. "But you're wrong about one thing."

Sam frowned. She doubted it. "What's that?"

"I'm not… what you said, you know, _familiar_ with any female airheads." He stumbled over his explanation then wondered why he even bothered explaining himself at all. He didn't owe her any explanations, but she was painting him out to be some kind of man-whore. He didn't care for the implication.

"Oh." Sam nodded as if all were clear now. "So you prefer your entertainment a little more high-brow huh?"

The skin around his eyes creased when he squinted. "Entertainment? What are you talking about?"

"Your women." She brushed off with polished nonchalance. "That is how you see us isn't it? There for your entertainment?"

Jason's face twisted as his brows knitted together. "No more than I'm there for hers I suppose, but no. That isn't how I see women at all. They aren't here simply to please me, but if they should happen to want to who am I to rob them of their joy?"

He didn't really believe that last part, but again couldn't resist pushing her buttons.

A disgusted sound emitted from the back of her throat. "You're a jerk!"

"And you're…" He started off heated as all the words he contemplated using flew threw his mind; _ungrateful, combative, difficult, a pain in my ass, sexy as hell when you're angry…_ Wait. _What?_ He then remembered why she had every right to treat him that way. He had been a jerk to her.

"... right." He finished lamely, his arrogance now fully deflated.

"What?" Sam looked at him confused again. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say. He kept throwing her off balance with his responses. She wasn't sure if he was a good guy or a jerk. Maybe he was both.

"I am a jerk… for not helping you sooner." He admitted humbly.

"Oh, that." She replied as if she'd already forgotten. "Yes, you are. You're just scoring all kinds of points today aren't you?"

Her wit was sharp and she was biting the hell out of him with it.

"Hey, I think I earned at least a couple for coming back –and for the drink. Both of them! That's double points!" He argued.

Sam shook her head. "That doesn't count. You didn't save me. I was almost out of there when you showed up. Hell, I hot-wired the getaway car. If anything, I saved _your_ ass and hydrating the kidnap victim wedged in the duffel of your trunk doesn't count either."

Jason's lips poked out in contemplation. "What about the second drink?"

Sam held her hand out toward him and he glanced over at it. "What the hell is that for?"

"The alleged drink." She told him waving her open hand expectantly. "Where is it? I'm thirsty. Give me the drink and I'll consider giving you some points."

"I don't have it." Jason told her unamused. "It was kind of knocked out of my hand when the bomb went off twenty feet away from me."

Sam shrugged and pulled her hand back into her lap. "Well then, no points for you. Looks like you scored a big fat goose-egg today."

"Better luck tomorrow." She added as she looked forward again.

Jason's lower lip poked out again. He didn't know why he let her words get to him. Then an unsettling possibility came to mind. What if he wasn't _letting_ her do anything? What if he was powerless to stop the emotions she brought out in him? He shook that ridiculous notion off. No one controlled his emotions, but him.

He noticed her moving around again. She was searching the glove box. "What are you looking for?"

"Tissue. You look like you're about to cry again."

Jason let out a frustrated breath and clenched his jaw as he fired back. "I'm not about to cry, but if I were they would be tears of joy. I'm almost home and one step closer to getting out of this car with you."

Sam scoffed. "Hah. I told you. This is my ride. You can pull over any time. I'll be glad to leave you on the side of the road to hitch the next one. Maybe you'll have better luck and some damsel-in-distress will stop to pick you up and let you rescue her so your wittle man feelings won't get hurt again."

"Would you stop?" Jason pleaded holding on to what little patience he had left.

"Would you go?" She demanded equally impatient "We just got passed by a Vespa!"

Jason gripped the steering wheel tighter and concentrated on his breathing. He needed to calm down. He was letting her get him too worked up.

Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head. She tuned Jason out and tuned the stereo back in and realized she didn't like the song that was playing. She began to scan the stations.

She stopped on one she really liked.

Jason's song

It had just started. She looked back out at the landscape as she felt herself get lost in it. There was something so beautiful in the vulnerability of not only his voice, but his words. It reminded her of what she'd felt when the man next to her told her why his lucky lighter was so important to him. She realized she'd been completely out of it for a couple minutes and looked over at Stone Cold as the kid had called him to see if she'd missed anything which was when she noticed his frown.

It brought a frown to her face as well. "Let me guess, you don't like it."

She moved to change the station and he opened his mouth to tell her not to, but stopped himself. It felt too vulnerable to admit he liked it. He'd gotten lost in the lyrics and the thoughts of his past that it evoked. It was a beautiful song and he felt a kindred connection to the feelings it expressed. He didn't even realize he was frowning until Sam looked at him and assumed he didn't like it.

Sam saw his reaction and paused over the button.

"So you _do_ like it?" She wondered.

"Yeah, well, I mean whatever. It's fine." He shrugged. "You don't have to change it if you like it."

Sam pulled her hand back and sat back in her seat. "I do." She nodded. "He's got a great voice and there's just something about this song. The lyrics really get to me, you know?"

She ventured a look trying to get a feel for what he was thinking.

Jason just shrugged. "I guess."

He was trying to hide it, but Sam could tell he really liked it.

"Who's he?"

"He who?" Sam said.

Jason chuckled. "That's what I said. The guy, you said he's got a great voice. Who sings it?"

"Oh." Sam said forgetting she'd said anything about him. "His stage name is Five For Fighting, but his real name is John Ondrasik. The song is called Superman."

Jason pursed his lips and just nodded as he continued to listen. It was a good song.

Several more songs played before they spoke again.

"So." Jason initiated once again. "What was the name of that other band before?"

Sam thought about it for a minute then remembered what he was talking about. "The Beastie Boys."

She watched him as she said the name. He tried to mask his ignorance, but failed. "You've never heard of them?"

Jason hesitantly shook his head. There were a lot of things about pop culture he knew nothing about. He lost whatever he had known after the accident and hadn't really had the time or inclination to re-learn it which was why he usually avoided the topic altogether. "No. Are they new?"

Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind, little did she know he had, well his memories anyway. "No, they're classic. You're telling me you've never heard of the Beastie Boys? How is that even possible? You can't be more than like five years older than me. You had to be a senior or in college when this song came out. It must have been playing at every frat party you ever went to."

Jason nodded once in understanding. "That explains it."

Sam raised a brow at him then looked back to the road ahead. "Glad I cleared that up for one of us."

She didn't think he would offer any further explanation, but then he spoke again. "What year was the song released?"

"'94." Sam turned in her seat hoping he would say more.

"What are you a music trivia buff? You sound pretty sure." Jason wondered aloud.

Sam smiled softly. "I remember the first time I heard it. I was fourteen and I loved it, but my father was very strict about what movies, books and music I was exposed to. That band was definitely not on the approved list."

"Sounds like good parenting." Jason observed innocently enough.

Sam huffed as an edge he'd never heard from her before found her voice. "Then you obviously haven't met my father."

Jason looked over at her. He'd upset her. "Sorry." He was the first to know better than to make simple assumptions about one's parenting skills.

"No, I'm sorry." Sam sighed. "It's not your fault."

She didn't want to discuss her father or depressing childhood. She decided to change the subject. "So why does the release date of the song explain why you don't know it? You would have had to be hiding under a rock not to have heard it."

He wasn't sure why he was talking about this at all. He'd only spoken about the accident once to the best friend he'd ever made in the service since he left Port Charles, but he somehow didn't mind sharing it with her. "I can't remember anything before December 1995. I was in a car accident and when I woke up a month later the docs said I suffered brain damage that caused permanent amnesia."

He cringed for the pity that revelation always brought about from others.

"Whoa." The dark-haired conundrum quipped, oh so eloquently.

"So, you can't remember anything at all before the accident? Not even your family or friends? Nothing?" Her voice was lit with surprise and a hint of awe which to him was much better than the pity he'd anticipated.

"Not a single thing." Jason told her.

What did you say to someone who told you something like that? She looked over at him as he kept his eyes firmly planted ahead and his face expressionless. He didn't seem the type to need or want anyone's pity and she wasn't the pitying kind. Pity was wasted energy better spent resolving the problem or moving forward if there was no resolution to be found.

It _was_ surprising though and it made her wonder if it had been the turning point to put him on his current path the way her mother's death had been for her.

_**xxxxx**_

Her gaze lingered on the faint strokes of pink and orange melding into the Mediterranean as they passed through the open gate. His home was a fairly large three story structure of aging stone time had weathered to hues of caramelized flan. Matching retaining walls lined the drive and hugged the residence in its snug embrace, protecting it and its inhabitants from slipping over the cliff completely and into the sea below.

He slowed as he pulled the car into the garage and killed the engine with the lights. A sensor had been tripped upon entrance now bathing him in bright warmth as he stepped from the stolen sedan. It was good to be home, or at least he thought so.

She remained still, arms crossed, refusing to follow his lead as she watched him from her peripheral. To move would be to accept she'd lost and admit defeat and she was still too pissed by his blind dismissal to do that yet. So she sat there, immobile and fuming.

They had yet to exchange names and hadn't spoken since the thirty minutes prior when she insisted he drop her at her hotel first. He'd refused, stating his home was closer. It had been a long day, he told her, and he was going home. She of course attempted to explain without explaining why she didn't have time to waste, but he wasn't swayed by her plea and hadn't been moved to ask for further justification. He'd simply told her wherever she chose to drive herself after he drove himself home was up to her. She wasn't sure what angered her more the fact that his argument held merit or that it seemed he couldn't care less what happened to her now that she was free.

_Why should I care if he cares?_

Jason spied her unyielding form topped with a look that begged defiance as he crossed to her side and opened the door. He got the feeling she'd wanted him to ask more questions earlier and truth be told he'd been curious to know what was important enough to walk right back into the line of fire. Whoever kidnapped her was sure to have someone watching her hotel room in case she was foolish enough to return. He'd wanted to know, but forced himself not to ask. He was sure it would only pull him further into the kind of trouble he preferred to avoid.

_The sooner she was on her way the better._ That's what he told himself, but his mouth and body kept finding ways to keep her with him. It wasn't _that_ much out of his way to drop her off first, but as infuriating as she'd been there was something about her that intrigued him and he wasn't quite ready to see her walk away. He told himself it was only logical for her to drop him off first, and it was, but that wasn't the only reason. Now he was home. All she had to do was get behind the wheel and spark the ignition wires once again and all he had to do was walk inside without looking back.

Instead he found his feet circling to her side of the car, his hand pulling the door open and his mouth… "Come on, you've got to be starving. Come up before you go and let me feed you. It's the least I can do."

He watched the infinitesimal tightening of her lower jaw as it bulged against her cheek. She inhaled and exhaled slow and deep and he prepared to deflect another barb, but her quiver seemed empty for the moment. She surprised him by saying nothing. She simply rose from the front seat and followed him up.

Why was she doing this, she asked herself? Only part of her knew the entire reason, but that part wasn't speaking. Maybe because that part knew she wouldn't like the answer. There was something that made her want to trust him. Maybe it was simply her own desperation, but perhaps there was something good hiding within him. He projected confidence, skill and a lethal edge. True, but there was something more that hinted of decency and, dare she hope, maybe even honor buried somewhere deep inside.

If she were honest with herself she needed someone like him to help stop her father, but a lifetime of experience was working against her. She was afraid to trust he wouldn't walk away like everyone else, or worse turn on her for her father. Maybe if she spent more time with him it would help her figure him out a little more, help her decide if she could trust him. A little time now could save a lot of time, and lives, later if she could convince him to help. Plus, she was starving and he'd offered to make her dinner.

_A girl has to eat, right?_

She followed him from the garage through a side door that led down a hall with a caged lift. She stood on it with him as it carried them up one floor to the main level. It opened from a corner in the kitchen.

The walls were a warm pistachio with white trimmed shutters at the windows and large white tiles with green accented glass bordering the top of the backsplash. She couldn't imagine him interested enough in home décor to bother painting it that way and would lay money that, aside from furnishings, his home looked exactly as the previous owners had left it. A rectangular reclaimed teak farm table with straight legs and six criss-cross teak dining chairs took up the center of the room. She gravitated to one of the seats as she watched him remove what was left of his jacket and place it on the back of another.

Going by the way he dressed, his home was nothing like she expected and, then again, it was. There were certainly suits of the same cost that were flashier, but his was understated just like his kitchen. It was simple, unadorned… _honest_ and fitted with all of the basics and nothing more. There was an oven, stove, refrigerator, an apron sink, a microwave and butcher block countertops with adequate lower cabinetry. A couple of open shelves held canisters and various supplies above the sink and stove and there was a window resting between the end of the counter and lift with a rugged four drawer teak console beneath it. It held a small potted aloe to one side and a large plate of varying citrus in the center, adding a utilitarian touch of color to the simple space.

She sat at the table watching as he stood at the oversized sink with his back to her rolling his sleeves and washing his hands. He pulled two skillets from an overhead rack and placed them on the stove as he turned on the heat. The next thing she knew he was placing oil and salt in a pan and pulling shrimp and pork from the fridge to shell, devein and cut into strips for frying. He sliced an onion and colorful peppers and fried those too and then in the second skillet he poured more oil and added a few spices as he left it to simmer.

The aroma of curry and turmeric soon wafted about the room stirring her stomach from sleep. She held her hand under her chin mesmerized with his efforts as he added rice noodles and oyster sauce to the herbed oil and tended to both pans until the ingredients were ready to mix together. Each motion was efficient and filled with silent grace. He seemed not only competent, but comfortable in the kitchen and it reminded her of someone she used to know, someone whose advice she respected a great deal.

The family cook for most of her childhood had once told her the way a man took to woman's work was very telling. If with reluctance or not at all he must think himself above it and thus above women themselves, but if he should embrace it or be accepting of the chores it revealed his sense of equality in all things between woman and man. She considered those words as she watched him cook for her. Maybe he was better than the men she'd compared him to after all.

He removed the skillets from the heat and pulled two rice bowls from the cupboard. He filled them with generous portions then stuck a set of chopsticks in each as he served it up to her.

"Bon appetite." He told her as he placed the bowl before her.

"Thanks."

He nodded and sat his bowl at the chair across from her then turned to grab two beers from the fridge. He passed one to her as they began eating in silence.

After several minutes she had to compliment him. It was too good not to. "This is really good. What is it?"

"Singapore Fried Rice Noodles." He told her.

She took another bite. "I've been to Singapore many times. I don't recall ever having rice noodles this good."

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's actually a Canadian/American dish."

That would explain it, she thought, as she took another sip of beer. She wasn't very familiar with Canadian or American cuisine. Her father generally opposed American culture and therefore her exposure had been limited. "Well it's good no matter where it comes from. You definitely know your way around the kitchen. Thank you."

He nodded once as their eyes met and held while he took a long pull from his bottle. Her pink tongue darted out subconsciously licking the spice from her lips and Jason found himself wanting to lean across the table and do that for her. Her lower lip was plump and red as a chili pepper ripe for the picking. It was begging to be plucked and he was certain it would taste of every bit of the spiciness her presence exuded.

He wanted to sink his teeth into its lushness and be burned by the fire, hear her gasp in excitement as his tongue slid into her mouth to plunder its hot depths as desire consumed them. His hold tightened around the cold bottle in his hand, pulling him from his indulgence as it perspired over his heated grip. He blinked and sighed and took another long drink to clear his mind or to cloud it beyond thoughts of her, he wasn't sure which.

He looked down at the beer in his hand to keep from getting lost in her again as he spoke. "So." He cleared his throat. He hadn't sounded like himself. "What's your name?"

He knew he shouldn't ask. He was breaking another rule, but what was that saying? In for a penny? He'd already invited trouble the minute he fought his way through that estate for her. There was no way they wouldn't be looking for her or him now, but rule number two afforded anonymity so he felt relatively safe for now at least until he could determine his next move. And, like it or not, he needed more information from her to do that. He also knew he would regret letting her slip out of his life without so much as her name. He would need that later when the memory of her replayed in his fantasies.

She studied him another minute trying to find her voice. She'd been lost in endless blue as he seemed to stare right into the deepest part of her. Never had a gaze penetrated her being so profoundly. It sent her mind reeling and her body into dangerous territory as his eyes moved from hers to her lips. She felt her pulse plummet then soar.

He looked as if he might jump across the table and take her at any moment, causing an unnerving thought to hover at the edge of consciousness, the thought that she just might not stop him if he did. She swallowed thickly realizing he was still waiting for her reply.

"Sam McCall." She answered then said what's yours before she could stop herself. It suddenly felt too risky to become more involved with this man. She needed to stay focused.

"Jason Morgan." He told her as he pushed his bowl back. He'd had his fill –of the food at least.

"So..." He wondered as he took another sip. "What kind of shit am I in?" It would do him good to remember just how much any involvement with her would cost him.

Her hand halted as she brought the next bite to her mouth then lowered it back into the bowl. She sighed before answering. "Deep shit, very deep shit, but I would think you'd know that considering whom you work for."

He nodded. That's what he thought, but he liked that she hadn't pulled any punches or tried to sugarcoat it. She was holding something back. He could feel it, but in all fairness it wasn't as if he'd shown much interest in learning what it was and he was still reluctant to do so. Just how much did he want to be involved? This was the question that plagued him. He wasn't sure of the answer yet, but he did feel the need to clear one thing up. "I work for myself."

Her eyebrow rose at that statement. She doubted him.

"I'm an independent transporter. I deliver packages from point A to point B, no questions asked. Until yesterday I'd never seen the men who hired me or the man I delivered you to." He didn't advertise his business, but he wasn't ashamed of it either.

Her brows drew near as she speared him with an assessing glare. If he truly had no allegiance to her father or Alcazar he might be trustworthy yet. The way he answered her next question would go a long way toward proving it either way. "Who were the men that hired you?"

He shook his head with a shrug. "No names, it's one of my rules. I do the job and walk away. It's healthier that way."

He noticed an impassive resignation settle over her as if she'd expected him not to have an answer. He felt as though he'd just failed some kind of test and it bothered him that she now seemed to think less of him in some way.

_Why should I care if she cares?_

But he did. "The kid went by some kind of nickname, _the Jackal_. He was young, looked fresh out of college and kind of scrawny with a mop top of brown. I didn't catch any name for the other one, but he spoke with a thick Russian accent. He was about my height, bulky with dark features and gruff demeanor."

"Danger boy." She replied with a sly grin he hadn't expected.

"What?" Was she slinging more insults his way?

"He was one of my kidnappers." She explained. "I called him danger boy to piss him off. It seemed to work."

He chuckled and shook his head. He'd seen the look in that man's eyes. He could have killed her without a second's hesitation and yet she'd spent her hours in captivity doing her best to piss him off. He wasn't sure if it was completely reckless or courageously genius? Maybe it was both, but he also found it a tiny bit endearing and hot as hell. If she were this way in public, how bold might she be in his bed?

He shook his head. "You're lucky to still be alive."

"They were ordered not to harm me." She admitted before taking another sip of the light summer ale.

"What makes you think so?"

She looked up at him and shrugged a shoulder. "Because they didn't." She told him and went back to eating.

She was full, but it was too good to stop. Three more bites, she told herself as the blended flavors enticed her palette for more. The meal was wonderful and he'd passed her test. It was a good moment and she wanted to savor it until she decided what to do next.

He huffed, a slight chuckle at her casual estimation as she delved into her bowl with fervor. It was nice to see someone appreciate his cooking for a change. He usually ate alone, but his thoughts quickly shifted back to her words.

She'd been right in her thinking, but that wasn't the only reason she believed what she'd told him. As he thought it over he realized she'd been too confident of her own safety during the whole ordeal. She was never as concerned for her own welfare as she was about getting to someone or some thing. Perhaps, in part, because she was that brave, but perhaps she also knew her abductor and if she'd figured something out about who was responsible she might just be more genius than reckless after all.

He sighed as he watched her push her bowl back and wipe her hands and face clean. Trying to figure her out was giving him a headache. She wasn't his problem to solve. He rubbed a tired hand over his face and winced as his calloused fingers irritated the burn on the side of it. He'd forgotten all about it, but he should probably treat it before it became infected or scarred.

He stood from his chair and walked to the console table near the lift. He opened one of the drawers and retrieved a first aid kit then broke a stem of aloe from the potted plant on top. He carried them back to his seat at the table and she watched slightly amused as he attempted to doctor himself without benefit of sight.

She rose from her side of the table and pulled a chair to sit by him.

He stopped to look at her. "What are you doing?"

She pulled the medical supplies in front of her and urged him to turn his chair toward her with one hand as she held out the other.

"Here." She told him, meaning for him to hand her the bottle of saline and sterile gauze.

He thought twice about accepting her help. It wasn't in his nature to do so, but he really couldn't see what the hell he was doing and enjoyed her company too much to finish up in front of the bathroom mirror all alone. He handed over the rest of the supplies and she did her best not to smile now that the roles were reversed and he'd just admitted a small defeat of his own.

She doused the sterile gauze with saline and began cleaning the area. Her other hand reached out to reposition his face for better access, sending a charge rippling beneath her skin as her fingers grazed the stubble under his chin and held firm yet gently to his powerful jaw. Their eyes met again and she was sure he'd felt it too.

She forced her hand away and averted her gaze as she and continued cleaning his wounds. He had a burn near his right ear and hairline and a small cut above his eye as well, but it wouldn't require stitches.

She applied an antibiotic ointment to the cut once thoroughly cleaned and applied a small butterfly bandage. She then covered his burn in the cream as well. "You're lucky. It doesn't look like it will blister. It's only first degree."

He didn't speak. He just stared down at her with that piercing blue gaze that made it hard not to want to stay lost in. She swallowed and turned her concentration back to his injury. She squeezed an ample dose of aloe gel from the stem and coated the burn with it then covered it with another bandage.

"There." She told him as she rubbed the tape into place. "That should do until the morning."

His fingers trailed up her forearm as they clasped around her fragile wrist to pull her torturous touch from his face. His eyes never left her as he did this. "Thank you." He told her.

She blinked out of her daze and swallowed once again. He didn't work for her father and he wasn't mistreating her now in any way. He'd cooked for her, apologized for what he'd done and risked his life to make it right and she now found herself enjoying this stranger's touch a little too much.

"You're welcome." She responded as she moved to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

He looked down and she saw him frown as he held tighter to her arm, but not so much as to hurt her. "You're hurt."

She nodded. "It was hard to get the angle of the lighter just right with my hands tied behind my back, but I managed."

He reached for her other hand and found that wrist burned as well. Without another word he laid one on the table and continued to hold the other in his as he tended to her as well. He cleaned the wounds and treated them with the antibiotic and aloe before covering each one with small bandages.

Until his touch she'd never known a man capable of such tenderness. There was gentleness in every movement which so strongly refuted any notion she gleaned from the callousness his stance, expressions and attitude had portrayed since they met.

He smoothed his thumbs over the adhesive. "All set."

She looked down at his handiwork with a soft smile of appreciation. "Thank you."

He nodded in return. "Why didn't you just take my pocket knife when you grabbed my lighter and keys? You knew I had it on me."

Sam groaned at the memory. Her pick-pocketing needed work if she intended to keep that skill sharp, but she hadn't been presented with opportunity to use it in a while. "I did. I had all three, but the knife slipped back into your pocket as I pulled my hand. There wasn't time to try again."

"Who taught you to pick-pocket and hotwire a car anyway?"

"My dad." She didn't even have to think about the answer. He wasn't her real father just the father she'd always wished was hers.

"Why would any father teach their child such things?"

Her eyes narrowed on him and her jaw clenched slightly. "Because the world is a dangerous place and you never know what skill just might save your life."

He'd offended her, though he hadn't meant to. It just struck him as an odd thing to teach a child and he'd been curious to know the reason behind it. Now that he heard it he couldn't say he disagreed with it, but it did make him wonder just what kind of world she'd grown up in. Most kids, as far as he knew, led pretty carefree lives ignorant of all the true evils in the world.

He just nodded to her answer not really sure how to apologize and not wanting to say anything else that might offend her further. He stood and walked to the waste can to throw the trash and empty bottles away then washed their bowls in the sink.

Several minutes passed before either spoke again.

"Don't you think it was a little too easy for us to escape? I mean where were Alcazar and the kid? It was the same kid who hired you. He introduced himself to me as the Jackal before the guards hauled me downstairs, but I didn't see either one of them after the shooting broke out." It was a question that had been bugging her since they left and she asked it now to fill the awkward silence that had formed between them.

"Alcazar." Jason turned from placing the bowls in the rack to dry. "Is that the person who had you?"

Sam nodded as she watched Jason pack the unused supplies back into the first aid kit.

_Interesting. So, did the Jackal work for this guy Alcazar and was that who really hired him for the job? Or, was the kid there to ensure safe delivery for whoever he really __worked for?_ He'd like to think it didn't matter. Jason had righted his wrong, shot up the guy's home, taken out a few of his men and stolen a replacement car for the one he'd lost. He was willing to call it even and walk away, but he was too smart to believe they would let him. It was a mistake to leave witnesses, but he wasn't that man anymore –or at least that's what he kept telling himself. It would only be a matter of time before they discovered he was still alive and tried again so he needed to know exactly who he was dealing with in order to watch his back.

He returned the first aid kit to its drawer as he answered her question. "I took out six of the guards. I figure there were anywhere from four to nine left. So I guess it could have been harder if they'd reached us before we got out of there, but I'm thinking they may have fled with Alcazar once the bodies started piling up. That man didn't strike me as the type to stand and fight alongside his men and the kid probably ran for it too. He shouldn't be involved with a guy like that anyway."

Sam wondered how he could know such a thing about someone after only one encounter. "How do you know the Jackal isn't just as bad?"

Jason sighed as he contemplated his answer. He wasn't sure he could explain it right. There was a certain look one had once they'd gone beyond the point of no return and the Jackal hadn't crossed that line yet. "That kid may not be squeaky clean, but he didn't deserve to get a bullet today. Hopefully this was a wake-up call and he turns his life around before it's too late."

Careful, Jason, he warned himself. He almost sounded like he cared.

"He was sweet." Sam grinned recalling the way he'd tripped all over his words with her and blushed when he called her the Goddess of Hotness.

Jason shook his head completely baffled by her as he took his seat once again. "I thought you just said he was just as bad."

"No." Sam corrected. "I asked how you knew he wasn't just as bad. I already knew he wasn't. I just wanted to know how you knew."

Jason's eyes widened as the pulse between his temples throbbed and he released a frustrated breath. "You're complicated. You know that?"

Sam just nodded as the smile slipped from her face. "So I've been told."

It was something she'd heard all her life, but she couldn't help believe that if someone ever actually took the time to know her they just might find she really wasn't all that complicated at all. What was so complicated about unconditional love? It was the only thing she wanted.

Jason watched as the grin she'd had a moment ago morphed into something rather somber. He'd upset her again and he didn't even know how he'd done it. He just knew seeing her unhappy left him with a feeling of... unrest.

"Hey." He tucked her hair behind her ear allowing his fingers to trace down around it, along her cheek and under her chin where his thumb rested just below her bottom lip. Her eyes met his and held as his touch sent her pulse skittering in her chest throughout her body, awaking every nerve within her.

He could feel her erratic breath on his thumb as his heart jumped with visions of sinking it into her warm mouth to suck and bite. Her vulnerability stared up at him through swirls of melted chocolate and that look made him feel, made him feel defenseless as well. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if his feelings were somehow linking with hers. It was dangerous and he didn't like it, but he didn't know how to stop it either.

"I said something." It was a statement not a question though she knew he wanted an answer for her sudden change in mood.

She couldn't answer him though. It was too vulnerable an admission to make. She shook her head slightly as she looked away to keep him from seeing the emotion she blinked back.

He nudged her chin to make her turn back to him and waited until she met his gaze once again to speak. "Tell me." He whispered with an urgency to know what he'd said wrong so he could set it right.

She stared into his eyes and felt something inside her pulling her forward, pulling her closer to him. She was faintly aware of their bodies inching closer together until their lips were merely inches apart. She could feel his warm breath on her skin as his fingers raised her chin to meet his lips as he drew near.

Another second and he would know how it felt to have his mouth on hers, to taste her tongue as it collided with his own.

"I have to go." She blurted out as she pulled from his hand and away from him completely.

She had to stay on task. She needed to retrieve her things from the hotel before her father sent someone to get them. He may have already, but they wouldn't know to look for the package she'd hidden for herself under another name. It wasn't good to mix business with pleasure either. She was working her way up to asking him for his help, but she didn't want him to think for one minute she'd used sex to get it.

_She had to go?_ He shook his head. It was too dangerous to go back. She needed to keep moving forward if she wanted to steer clear of the trouble at her heels. "It's too dangerous. They're sure to have people watching the room and waiting for you to do something so foolish."

He wasn't telling her anything she didn't know, but she didn't have a choice. "I have to go back. It's not an option."

Had she not heard a word he just said? She was walking right back into their trap. She was a fool and so was he for losing control of his emotions. What the hell had he been thinking? Messing around with her nearly got him killed more than once today. Was he so anxious to welcome another try? This was what happened when you broke the rules. _Chaos._ One tiny destructive step and then another until your life was in total ruins, again.

"Fine!" He stood abruptly from his seat and stalked around the table toward a set of closed doors.

"If you want to go off and get yourself kidnapped again or worse be my guest, but you should at least wait until daylight when there's more staff and guests to act as witnesses when you undoubtedly go missing again."

He was done. He needed time away from her and whatever it was she was doing to him to get his head screwed back on straight.

Sam sighed. She'd ticked him off. That much was obvious and the way he reacted was almost good enough to make her believe he actually cared. "Where are you going?"

"To bed!" He told her as he retreated into an adjoining room and made his way up the stairs. "I can't think straight when I'm tired."

She sat there unsure of what to do and feeling angrier every passing second for the uncertainty he made her feel. She'd been clear on her mission before he entered her life and now she doubted her ability to see it through. He didn't care about her and she was furious for believing one second he might. If he'd cared he would have offered to help her, but he didn't. He didn't give a damn and it was ridiculous of her to care one way or the other about it. She was angry with him, but she was also mad at herself. She could have asked him for that help, but she didn't. She still didn't trust him not to let her down.

If she could only get to know him better, but how could she possibly learn enough about him in a short enough time to convince her to place her trust in him? She was surprised he'd shared the little pieces of his life he had with her. It was like pulling teeth to get information out of him.

It was then that another life lesson kicked in. She'd been taught how to snoop, professionally. Most people had no clue what their personal belongings said about them. Not only what they had, but how they displayed it and what they didn't have as well. There was actually a whole science behind it and she knew it inside and out.

She'd learned about all she could from his kitchen so she moved on to another room. She walked through the double doors he'd disappeared behind to see a staircase to her left. The rest of the room had been turned into an office. There was a large desk and chair in the center of the space in front of two windows with a large armoire on the wall opposite of the stairs. There were no pictures and no mementos on the desk. There was only a laptop that was closed and a small monthly calendar themed with luxury sports cars. Opening the drawers revealed pens, pencils, a ruler, stapler and other various small office supplies. Aside from the armoire, a supple cordovan leather sofa was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

She walked over to the armoire and opened each of the two drawers below. One was full of crisply folded linens and the other was stuffed with spare pillows. She opened the doors as quietly as possible. Jason probably wouldn't appreciate her snooping.

A 40" flat screen filled the center shelf with a DVD player on the shelf below. The bottom two shelves contained a few CD's of all types of music and movies that were mostly action or sport related films like _Hoosiers_ along with other Oscar winning titles as well, but the space was mostly comprised of books. There were a lot of maps and travel guides to destinations far and wide. They appeared well worn and she wondered if he'd actually been to all of those places.

Other subjects ranged from military history and the classics to biographies of people from every walk of life. Other than a penchant for Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum, he seemed to prefer non-fiction. His collection rounded out with multiple outdated copies of car, motorcycle, diving, travel and gun magazines, but it was the top shelf that held the most promise. _Naturally._ She stood on tip toes struggling to reach the box perched there. It nearly fell to the floor as she swiped it from the shelf, but she caught it before it could land.

She paused to see if the noise alerted him to her actions, but all was quiet. She pulled the top off and took a look inside. The first thing she noticed was all the pictures lying loose in the box. She saw one of him with whom she could only assume his parents and maybe brother and sisters though none of them really resembled one another. There was an older couple too. His grandparents maybe? As well as a few other extended relatives she could only guess were aunts and uncles or maybe cousins.

They were all smiling and so was he and she suddenly recalled him telling her that he didn't smile. She studied the picture a little harder and realized he was much younger in that photo. It must have been him before the accident. She couldn't know for sure if it had been taken before or after, but there was a light in that younger man's eyes that she hadn't seen in the man she was with today.

She flipped through more photographs. There were a few more with the young brunette she'd assumed was his sister and one with him and his grandmother. She sat in a wheelchair looking every bit of a proper lady. Despite her frail carriage there was a strength in the upward tilt of her chin and a mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes that was tempered with a kindness that made her heart yearn. She'd always longed for a grandmother and couldn't imagine one any finer than the one pictured in her hands. He'd inherited her eyes, she noticed, and not just the intense color but the twinkle and kindness too. He couldn't have lost that altogether could he? Perhaps those qualities too were only buried deep inside.

There were a couple photos of him with a dark-haired man sporting an Italian suit and the biggest set of dimples she'd ever seen as well as several alone and together with a raven-haired girl with dark soulful eyes. She'd checked the back of all the photographs, but only one had been labeled.

It was a picture of him with his arm around the girl. They were young and happy and the inscription on the back read: You saved my life and now it's time to save your own. I'll always believe in you. Nothing has changed that and nothing ever will –with love and eternal friendship, Robin.

She might have disregarded the sentiment as young love, but there were other photos of the woman that were much more recent along with a few letters and it was clear that their friendship had survived long after any young love had failed. Robin was a doctor now from what she could gather skimming through the letters and she provided him with news on her family as well as his own.

This Robin character teased him mercilessly and threatened to tell his grandfather and someone by the name of Carly of his whereabouts if he didn't write her back this time. Sam found herself smiling at the woman's words. She seemed like a good person and a good friend and from some of the things Robin had to say about Jason it seemed like he was just as good of a person and friend to her. The letters were dated as recently as four weeks ago. _He couldn't have changed that much in a month._ He had to be the same person somewhere deep inside. Sam decided she just needed to find a way to connect with that side of him and she was sure he would help her, help all those women before it was too late.

She grabbed another handful of photographs revealing a small cigar box at the bottom. She looked at the photographs first. There were some of him as a child. She could tell it was him by his eyes, nose and lips though his hair had been much lighter as a boy. Other pictures showed him in uniform. 75th Ranger Regiment one of them said and then there were others with fellow soldiers and friends in and out of uniform. There was one posed photo at the very bottom of the stack. It looked like a unit or team. She wasn't sure of the lingo, but the back simply said Delta with what she guessed were unit or platoon numbers. She wasn't really sure, but she did recognize the words Ranger and Delta. They were Special Forces of the United States Army.

She placed the photos back down in the box and picked up the cigar box. She opened it to see that it was filled with medals. She didn't know what most of them were for, but she'd studied enough history to recognize the two most significant. They were housed in velvet boxes. The first was a bronze star with a "V". She remembered from her studies that as a medal it was awarded for merit, but with a "V" for valor it was awarded for heroism. And as if there were any question he might be a hero the second box erased all doubt.

Jason was the recipient of the Medal of Honor. She didn't know much about it, but she knew it was the highest military honor awarded by the United States government. It called for heroism at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in action against an enemy. The award was so prestigious due to its nature that most of them were awarded after death. Whatever Jason had done to receive that decoration meant he was lucky to still be alive. He had risked his own life to save others, not for greed or personal gain but out of a sense of duty to do what was right.

She placed everything back just as she'd found it and then retrieved one of the pillows and blankets she'd discovered earlier. She fell asleep on his couch with a smile on her face. Jason Morgan had been trained for Special Forces and he was exceptional. The medals confirmed as much. He was a hero. He was a good friend and a good person, at least one seemingly good person thought as much and as soon as morning came Sam intended on getting to know that Jason Morgan and asking him for his help.

Page 27 of 27 Created: 2012-02-19 Updated: 2013-06-07 Words: 10952 Characters: 58915


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